


Hellish Literature

by The_Bentley



Series: Transformations 'Verse [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Crowley Has His Share of Grief Too, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Mean to Aziraphale But He Gets Better, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: "You know I’m helping Michael track down dark magic books that have ended up back in circulation before someone tries something extremely stupid and we have a mess on our hands.”Crowley took a surreptitious glance at the list of dark spell books while Aziraphale was in the backroom.  Three of the titles were enough to chill even his demonic blood.  An angel could not hunt those down alone without putting himself in extreme danger.To protect Aziraphale from harm, Crowley aids him in hunting down dangerous spell books.





	1. Of Dangerous Tomes

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely happy with this one, but I'm going to be a masochist and publish it anyway.
> 
> This does fit into the series I'm writing despite taking place before the Not-Apocalypse. It'll make sense once it is all written.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ssssssso, about this mission of yours.  What do they expect you to do exactly?” asked Crowley in a manner he hoped was casual._
> 
> _“Drop it, my dear.  Michael has faith in my ability to handle it.”_
> 
> _“Yeah?  That doesn’t count for much because Michael, while really good at pushing Fallen angels off into the Pit, has no idea how serious tracking down honest-to-goodness occult books can be.  Especially if they came off of Hell’s bookshelves.”_
> 
>  

_Sometime Before the Failed Apocalypse_

The man in the black overcoat and fedora was leaving Aziraphale’s bookshop just as Crowley eased the Bentley up to the curb.  With a friendly tip of his hat as he noticed Crowley unfolding himself from the driver’s seat, he headed further down the street to where his own expensive car was parked.  Crowley immediately didn’t trust the man.  He nodded coldly in return, narrowing his eyes unseen behind his dark glasses. 

“Aziraphale, who’s that guy who just left?” Crowley asked as he shoved his way through the now-locked door with a thought.

Aziraphale, used to Crowley’s many rude entrances, barely looked up from the list of rare books the dealer he had just met with had left in his possession.  “Manners, my dear.”

“Hi, Aziraphale.  Who was the prat in your shop?  Surely not a customer.”  Crowley waited for the long-suffering sigh and was not disappointed.

“That was Mr. Randolph, another rare book dealer.  You know I’m helping Michael track down dark magic books that have ended up back in circulation before someone tries something extremely stupid and we have a mess on our hands.”

“You shouldn’t have said you’d help out.  You’re not part of Michael’s department and don’t need to jump when he asks you to.  I wish you’d remember that.  But, I’ll laugh if Gabriel ends up having to come down here on clean-up crew.”  Crowley practically fell into the ancient wingback chair sitting off near the window where Aziraphale could take advantage of the sunlight if he chose to read out in the bookshop itself instead of hiding in the backroom.  He swung one long leg over the arm in a casual manner.

“That comment wasn’t necessary.”

“Couldn’t resist.  I’ve never seen anyone more married to his desk job.  You know . . . you are acquainted with someone who’s sensitive to occult energy if you’re in need of some help.”

“Thanks, my dear, but this is a mission.  I’d probably better do it myself.”  Aziraphale had a fountain pen out and was circling a couple of titles on the list in front of him.

“Have it your way, but you _are_ aware what those kinds of books can do to an angel?  Some of them are straight out of Hell’s library.  So, are we going to lunch or what?”  Crowley had sidled up to the till so he could lean against it, elbows propped against the counter, totally ignoring the list of circled titles lying in front of the angel.

Aziraphale glanced up at him with a nod, “Let me get my coat.”

Crowley took a surreptitious glance at the list while Aziraphale was in the backroom.  Three of the titles were enough to chill even his demonic blood.  An angel could not hunt those down alone without putting himself in extreme danger.

They chose a little bistro off the beaten path in Covent Garden that Aziraphale had become very fond of for its great desserts.  Right now he was in the process of finishing off Crowley’s since the demon showed little interest in doing that himself, instead he sat sipping his coffee without commenting on how Aziraphale’s fork was invading his plate.

“Ssssssso, about this mission of yours.  What do they expect you to do exactly?” asked Crowley in a manner he hoped was casual.

“Drop it, my dear.  Michael has faith in my ability to handle it.”

“Yeah?  That doesn’t count for much because Michael, while really good at pushing Fallen angels off into the Pit, has no idea how serious tracking down honest-to-goodness occult books can be.  Especially if they came off of Hell’s bookshelves.”

“I’m just going to have to trust that he knows what he’s talking about and do my best.”  Aziraphale popped the last bit of dessert in his mouth.

“Quit with the martyr act.  The last time you were actually martyred was the early thirteen hundreds.”  Crowley indicated to a passing waitress that he’d like the bill.

“Yes, and if I recall correctly that was because of the stupidly foolish thing you did.”

“I said I was sorry.  Look, we’re getting off the subject here.”

“No.  I’ll take care of it.  It’s my mission and I can’t risk having you involved if Above happens to be watching.  They may acknowledge my existence, lowly Earth-dwelling angel that I am, when they need something, but they will not tolerate yours at all.  End of discussion.”  Aziraphale slapped Crowley’s hand away so he could slip a credit card on the small tray holding the bill for their lunch.

“Paying for lunch isn’t going to make me forget about it.  I’ll be here when you come whining to me that some sinister book you touched left you cursed, ok?”

 

~*~*~

 

Two months later, Crowley was comfortably ensconced in that antique wingback armchair, leg swinging off the side, playing some inane app on his iPhone when Aziraphale walked in with a wrapped, rectangular package in his arms. 

“Why don’t you just move in?  You spend so much time here,” he muttered irritably upon seeing who was occupying his chair.

“A spell book?”  The chair’s occupant decided his best course of action was to ignore the barb if he wanted an update on Aziraphale’s mission.

“Yes.  It’s the last of the ones my local book dealer connections can get dig up for me.  It cost quite a lot, but it’s worth it to get it out of circulation.”

“Why do you bother?  Just take them.  Some of them are very dangerous.  I’d think that would override your overly-developed sense of morals.  By the way, that one’s full of minor spells that really can’t cause harm.  They draw on the user’s own powers and since humans don’t have magical reserves like we do, they can’t do a thing with them.  You should be out hunting the ones with spells that tap into ley lines.  Some fool will end up doing that and fry himself in the process, maybe even every living thing around him, too.”

Crowley returned his attention back to his mobile where he was deciding what plants would provide the best defense against attacking zombies.  Aziraphale just stared at him with a look of surprise in those sky blue eyes of his.

“Occult being, remember?” Crowley grinned like a Duke of Hell who had just corrupted a soul.  “I could smell it as soon as you brought it in.”

“Fine you can help.  Michael’s started breathing down my neck about this project since my progress has been slow.”  Aziraphale shoved a list of titles written in his neat copperplate writing at Crowley. 

Crowley took the list, looking it over like he hadn’t snuck a peek at it a while ago, the grin slowly disappearing from his face as he read some additions made by Aziraphale.  “Some of these are very serious books indeed.  You could summon demons with them.  Never a fun experience, but beside the point.  Unleash an incurable plague on the human race.  Control hurricanes.  And some are not books an angel can safely touch.  You’ll end up cursed, or discorporated, or worse.  You need me if you want to get rid of them.”

“How am I going to explain your presence when Michael is watching me so closely?”

“Well, I was thinking we act like I’m being a pest who’s following you everywhere just to figure out what you’re up to”

“Or Plan B, I discorporate you so I can do this mission in peace.”

“Are you going to do it in my sleep again or do I get to watch this time?”

“Be serious.”                                                                             

“You’re the one advocating murder.  Very angelic.”

“You’re immortal, it’s not like it would actually be homicide.”

“Let’s go with Plan A.  I’ll follow after you.  It’s less messy and involves no extra paperwork.  Not like I haven’t done it before.”

“I know.”  Aziraphale’s reply was a bit chilly.

Crowley strolled over to the till where the wrapped book sat.  “Can I see what you got?”

Aziraphale gestured to him to open it.  Crowley carefully undid the tissue paper surrounding the rather plain-looking, slim, ancient book.  Little decoration beyond some tracings of vines around the edges of the covers was apparent, but to Crowley’s demonic vision it fairly glowed with ominous sigils.  Overkill, really.  It did not give off much of an occult feeling as he brushed his fingers across it, therefore; he was right about it being a minor spell book of little consequence.  This book was the equivalent of a small fish in a large pond.  Still, he figured one couldn’t be too careful with such things.    

“Are you going to destroy it?” he asked.

“I probably should even if it isn’t that harmful.  Just to be safe.”

Crowley gazed thoughtfully at the book on the counter.  “Can I try?  If I can’t do it, you’re going to have get some holy water.”

When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley made him step back into the doorway to the backroom.  Carefully he laid the book on floor of the bookshop well away from any of the wooden shelves laden with those ancient, dry tomes that would burn in an instant.  Next he made several complicated hand gestures over the book as his eyes became sinister, glowing red behind those dark, designer sunglasses.  The book flared up almost immediately with a threatening, unnatural, crimson fire, turning to ash in mere moments.  Crowley waved his hand over its remains, sending the fire away again.  The ash only smoked for a few seconds before becoming completely inert.

“Good.  It worked.  If you can’t get a hold of holy water, then I can destroy them.”

“Was that _hellfire_ , Crowley?” huffed an irritated Aziraphale.  “In my _bookshop_?”

The demon pushed his ever-present sunglasses up on his bright auburn hair so he could rub eyes screwed tightly shut.  The pain from producing that small amount throbbed like a localized migraine.  “Listen, I don’t even like calling the stuff up because it gives me one nasty headache, but I had to find out if it would destroy an occult book.  The more options we have to get rid of them permanently the better, don’t you think?”

“Ok.  I’m sorry.  Now what do we do with it?”  Aziraphale was peering over at the small mess, keeping his distance like one would a venomous snake with a bad temper.

“It’s safe now.  No different from me touching a surface holy water evaporated off of.  You can sweep it up, no problem.  Or vanish it if you want to take the lazy route.”

It immediately disappeared. 

“Do you have any idea where to look for the rest of them?” asked Crowley as he resumed his usual position in the chair by the window.

But Aziraphale was distracted by the sudden appearance of a blinding blue-white light and melodic twang between Crowley’s position and the front door.  Panicked, he shot the demon a wide-eyed look a split second before Crowley blessed and vanished from the chair, leaving behind only his mobile.  A brilliant green tail disappeared beneath the nearest bookshelf.

Aziraphale pulled his eyes away from the demon under his bookshelf just in time to see Gabriel step out from the circle of light carrying a rather large, white folder.  Aziraphale did his best to put a pleasant smile on his face.  He wasn’t due for a review on the project yet, was he?

“Nice to see you, Gabriel.  It’s been a while since you’ve been down.”

The Archangel of Communications nodded pleasantly in return.  “Good afternoon, Aziraphale.  How’s your project for Michael coming along?  I think I might have some information here that could help you out.  Is there somewhere we could sit and talk?”

Aziraphale gestured towards the backroom.  “In there.  Please, make yourself comfortable.  I’ll go lock the door so we’re not disturbed.”

“Thank you.”  Gabriel disappeared into the room behind the till while Aziraphale made his way to the front door via a route that took him past the bookshelf Crowley was currently concealed under.

_Crowley, go hide under the till.  I want you to hear this,_ he sent in the demon’s direction.

_No problem._

Aziraphale bustled into the backroom.  “I’m sorry about the mess back here.  I was doing some cataloging.  Can I get you some tea or anything?”

“No thanks,” Gabriel had settled himself upon the old couch, spreading contents from his folder on the coffee table in front of him.  “It’s great you’ve picked up local Earth customs and perfected your disguise as a second-hand bookseller, but you really don’t have to go to such lengths for me.”

Aziraphale tried to take the compliments for what they were even though they very much felt backhanded.  Gabriel did mean well.  He just spent little time on Earth and even less around Aziraphale.

Gabriel, for his part, found Aziraphale slightly weird.  He had no fashion sense, was such an introvert it sometimes took a miracle to pry him out of that bookshop to do good deeds -- plus keep an eye on that demon -- and if his love for food and collecting materialistic items like books was any indication, he had gone native some time ago. 

“I know you sometimes cross paths with that demon, but when it comes to this project, under no circumstances do you allow that snake to tempt you into giving up anything I say you, ok?”

“I won’t tell him a thing,” Aziraphale dutifully replied, which wasn’t a lie since Crowley was out listening to everything first hand. 

Gabriel was staring intently at his paperwork, spread out in a neat, organized manner that made it extremely easy for him to locate any one article he might want during his discussion with Aziraphale.  Efficiency was next to godliness in Gabriel’s opinion, plus the sooner they got this entire, regrettable business over with, the sooner they could go back to the business of thwarting their sworn enemy.  They would all still be enjoying a blessed existence in Eden instead of pushing papers in celestial offices if it weren’t for that Hell’s, and Crowley’s in particular, antics. 

Why Aziraphale would choose to carry on a conversation with that snake there at the edge of Eden rather than smite him on the spot was something nobody else could quite comprehend.  That Principality was definitely different, that’s for sure.  But he did have to admit the demon proved to be quite lazy after that, choosing to cause minor mischief such as tying up mobile networks and causing traffic jams. That wasn’t exactly proper demonic behavior.  Maybe it was just all part of the Plan that he not end up a smoking crater with his spirit rushing back to Hell, but stationed to Earth instead.  Hell could have easily sent up one of the more evil-minded and motivated members of their ranks. 

Crowley would have just laughed at Gabriel’s opinion, then lumped him amongst the fourteenth century minds running Hell who didn’t have the ability to understand how little annoyances kept thousands miserable for an entire day or how irritated humans tended to spread it around with a rather large shovel.

“Thank you.  You can’t be too careful when it comes to occult dangers.  That demon may not be the most demonic of that bunch, but I still wouldn’t trust him not to cause trouble anyway,” Gabriel replied in his smooth American accent.  “We’ve managed to track the locations of a few of the more problematic books.  I can give you information on them.”

_I never did like that tosser._

Aziraphale pointedly ignored the voice in his head.  “Oh?  Well, that’s great because I’ve only been able to locate a handful.  I’ve taken most of them to Michael to destroy.  He didn’t want to take any chances since some contained spells that could hurt angels.  The latest was a minor spells book that was mostly harmless.  Still it didn’t need to be out there, so I made sure it was destroyed.” 

Getting the cursed ones had been an adventure.  He had had to have them mailed to them, then once received, carefully levitate them into a silver box covered in sigils meant to keep the curse from harming him.  Only then could he pick up the box and deliver it to Michael. 

Gabriel picked up a couple of sheets of paper.  One was information about an ancient occult book that surfaced recently.  The other was a map of its location in the United States.

“There are only three still out there that will cause serious trouble.  The rest are spell books humans can’t do any harm with, but we should seek them out sometime.  It’s just better that information isn’t out there to give them ideas.  I’d go after this one first since it’s the furthest away and the most urgent to retrieve.  The second one is in Germany and the third we’ve tracked down to Ireland in an isolated cave.  Nobody’s come across it yet from what we can tell, so it can just keep sitting there a while.   The Seraphim put warding spells on the area to keep humans away, but the book tried to attack them when they attempted to retrieve it.  It senses their powerful magic.  We’re hoping you have better luck since you’re in a human body that dulls your aura somewhat.  The one in Germany is in a museum and the one in the States is set to be auctioned off in two months’ time from what we’ve heard.”

Aziraphale took the papers, scanning over the information on the books, which made him shiver involuntarily.  One could summon the most powerful demons in Hell to do one’s bidding, unleash incurable plagues and a variety of other evil doings with the spells in them, provided one did it correctly.  If not, the ley lines would not only incinerate the spell caster, but everything within a several mile radius. 

“If I may be candid,” said Aziraphale.  “These books are dangerous for Hell as well.  Am I going to be going up against demons to get my hands on them?”

Gabriel shook his head.  “As far as we know they’re unaware they’re out there.  But if you can possibly get information out of that snake without giving away your mission, you’re welcome to try.  I’d just like you to make plans within the next week to go after that book in the States before it’s sold and disappears again.”

_‘That snake‘. . . Hiss, hiss.  Love you, too, Gabe,_ said Crowley sarcastically in Aziraphale’s mind _.  I haven’t heard a thing about those books, myself, except from you.  Hell has its share of horrible gossips who can’t keep confidential information to themselves. I would have found out by now if my people were hunting them down, too._

“If I run into him, I’ll see what I can do,” replied Aziraphale noncommittally. 

The rest of the visit went over the information Gabriel had about the books and their whereabouts, giving Aziraphale some clue on where he would find them and how dangerous they were.   The entire time he could feel Crowley in the back of his mind, impatient, like the mental equivalent of him sitting there fidgeting.  It wasn’t just the confinement behind the office supplies on the shelf that was getting to Crowley, it was about the books, but the demon mostly just kept quiet and listened.  His behavior was starting to cause Aziraphale to worry when Gabriel finally announced his need to return to his office.

Crowley wandered the backroom not two minutes after Gabriel disappeared into the tunnel of blue-white light, heading immediately for the liquor cabinet where he grabbed some brandy and two glasses.  Setting them down on the one part of the old, scratched table that was not covered with papers, he wordlessly asked Aziraphale if he wanted some then filled both glasses.  He handed one to the angel.

“I hate having to shift.  It is so disorienting to go from one species’ shape and senses to another’s,” he commented as he collapsed on the couch flipping his sunglasses on to the bookshelf behind him as he did so.  He patted his jacket pocket having forgotten that he abandoned his mobile on the chair in his rush to get out of Gabriel’s view.  He held out his hand and it appeared with a slight _pop_.  Stuffing it in his pocket, he felt complete now that it was back where it should be.

Aziraphale allowed him to settle a bit, nursing his drink in companionable silence before getting to the subject on his mind.  “You’re nervous about these books.”

“Of course I am.  The one in the States sounds bad enough, but the one in the cave?”  Crowley rolled his eyes.  “They’re possibly turning you into their sacrificial lamb.  Seraphim can’t get near it.  What makes them think you can?  Just because you have a human body?  Bloody ridiculous.  Good thing you have me.”

“Crowley?”

“Yes?”  The demon was starting intently into his diamond-patterned glass with a splash of brandy left in the bottom.

 “I was thinking.  You created hellfire.”

“Demons can do that.”

“Lesser demons can’t without draining so much of their power.  They’re useless for a day or two.  You just got a headache.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale paused a moment, then decided to plunge forward anyway.  “You’re more powerful than you let on.  A demon’s power level is based on what the particular Choir the demon was in before they Fell.  What were you?”

“A gardener.  Why do you want to know?”  Crowley’s facial expression was taking on that “don’t go there” look he got every time Aziraphale tried to bring up any of his pre-Fall history.

“Because I’m trying to figure out your interest in my mission to find occult books.  Normally you don’t seem to care too much if a few humans do stupid things.  What is it you call that?”  Aziraphale paused to try to recall the exact wording.  He never was good at remembering Crowley’s turns of phrase.   “Herd thinning?”

“Thinning the herd,” Crowley corrected, nose deep in his mobile and whatever app he had happened to decide to start playing.  These days that was his standard method of showing he wasn’t interested in pursuing a particular line of conversation.

“Choir?”

“I forgot.”

“No, you didn’t.  Do you want me just to guess?  If you’re not joking around about the gardener thing, then I’d say Virtue.  They are the ones who were charged with developing all matter of scientific and natural phenomenon.  If your job was to take the plant life idea and run with it, it would explain why you’ve been so skillful in horticulture for as long as I’ve known you,” Aziraphale explained before taking a deep breath in advance of continuing to march on into territory that just might cause Crowley to erupt like Vesuvius the last time they were in Pompeii.  “That would put you two Choirs above me and in a good place to keep me for accidentally discorporating myself or something while trying to deal with occult magic.  They’re misinformed, aren’t they?  This mission is out of my league.”

Crowley got up, slid his sunglasses on and stalked out without uttering a word to Aziraphale until he got to the front door.  There he paused to say, “I don’t have to explain my motivations or angelic history to you.  But my offer to help still stands and I suggest you take it without the added commentary.  You’re going to need it.”

The bell above the door tinkled and the bookshop became quiet.  Aziraphale threw his arms up in frustration.  Why did that demon have to be so stubbornly mysterious?

 


	2. Cursed Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What are you getting from this grimoire, Crowley? Aziraphale sent silently._
> 
> _Long story short, a whole lot of power.  Being in the same room as this thing is making me uneasy.  The spells in this book can enable humans to not only control other humans – as in whole armies of them – but summon mid-level demons as well and some other nasty stuff._
> 
> The mission goes sideways in a big way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my partner, the book-collecting, dessert-loving (yes, he steals bites of mine!), introverted, stable, unfashionably slight bastard Aziraphale to my redheaded, plant-loving, sarcastic, emotional, rule-bending-but-still-slightly-good under it all Crowley. Happy birthday, angel. ❤️

Aziraphale texted Crowley two days later to tell him that he had booked a flight to New York City where the book was to be auctioned off.  He was leaving in a few days in hopes of tracking down the owner of the book and obtaining it from them before the auction in a couple of months.  The auction house was already advertising the sale of the ancient tome on their website, generating interest among rare book collectors the world over.   Aziraphale had become internet-savvy enough to keep an eye on the interest in the forums where they congregated.

It took about half an hour, but a response came.  _When are you leaving?_

 _Tuesday.  Flight leaves at 7:30PM,_ Aziraphale typed back.

_I’ll book a flight for Wednesday.  Don’t do anything that’ll put you in direct contact with that book until I get there._

 

~*~*~

 

Aziraphale may have packed for real because he did buy his clothes instead of creating them out of raw firmament, but Crowley, who wished almost everything he needed into existence, packed merely to keep airport security from thinking he was suspicious.  If one could even call making a suitcase full of a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries out of thin air “packing.”  Crowley didn’t even know what was in the bag, nor did he care.  He’d wish up whatever he felt like wearing that day instead of reducing himself to wearing clothes wrinkled beyond hope from sitting in a suitcase for entirely too long.  If he was going to have to wish away wrinkles, he might as well just go all the way and create new clothes.

Aziraphale had texted that he had landed several hours earlier and the two set up a meeting planned to look like the demon was following the angel just in case Aziraphale was being watched.  Crowley was readying himself to leave for the airport, not relishing the thought of leaving the Bentley parked there for Hell knows how long even with layers of spells on it to keep it safe.  Nor was he fond of New York City.  Oh he tried to like it since it, similar to most major cities around the world, had its share of rude people, bad attitudes and lots of chances to tempt, but something about the city in general just put him off.  Nothing he could really put his finger on.  It’s not like he actively _hated_ it; he just didn’t happen to _like_ it, either.  Maybe he was just too used to his life in London.  He might have been created in Heaven then damned to Hell, but deep down inside he was as English as if he had been born and raised there.  His roots in London had grown long and deep during the extraordinary amount of time he had lived in the city.

The thought crossed his mind that he didn’t have to go.  It wasn’t his mission.  But he banished it quickly because Aziraphale was a friend and one didn’t leave a friend to collect and destroy dangerous occult books alone, even if it meant going to New York, New York.  Feeling very annoyed at Michael for putting this garbage on Aziraphale’s shoulders, he prepared to leave for Heathrow.  Instead, he consoled himself with the thought that he was traveling first class with all the conveniences instead of suffering in business like Aziraphale did.

 

~*~*~

 

He found Aziraphale at the appointed time and place – a chic, little coffee shop not far from the hotel Aziraphale was staying at.  Crowley took a taxi there, the trip making him vow to find someplace to rent a car rather than subject himself to _that_ ever again.  It wasn’t like finding parking spots or paying the rates was going to be any sort of hardship for him.  If Aziraphale was content to take public transportation, he was welcome to it. 

“I don’t want to be here.  How long is this going to take?” he slipped into the seat across from the angel after spending a moment or two making taunting gestures at him through the glass while Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

Aziraphale made a show of slamming the book he was reading down like he was put out.  Crowley leaned back in his chair in a way that suggested self-satisfaction.  With any sort of luck, nobody watching saw through their pantomime.

“Well, I hope not too long,” murmured his counterpart quietly.  “I’m not exactly thrilled by being here, either.  But I got some leads on who owns the book and hopefully I can set up a private meeting for us to try to convince them to sell it to us.”

Aziraphale was never comfortable being away from his precious bookshop. 

“We should just take it then modify their memory so they don’t recall having it,” the demon clandestinely wished up a cup of coffee just the way he liked it and took a few sips. 

“Really, my dear?  You couldn’t have gone up to the counter to order one?”

“Nope.  Where are you staying? I’m roughing it in a deluxe king room over at my usual hotel when I have to stay in this dismal city, so I hope this doesn’t take longer than a few days.  Otherwise, I would have gone with a suite.  But at least they have decent dining and a passable bar.”

Aziraphale put the cost of Crowley’s coffee in the cash register with a quick wave of his hand.  “I’m at a nice, reasonably priced place that’s actually quite comfortable.  The art deco look of it appealed to me.  I may have standards, but I’m not as spoiled as you.”

“Whatever, you like the finer things as much as I do.  So, where do we start?” 

 

~*~*~

 

“That demon followed him to New York.  I’m about ready to send someone down there to take care of that little problem.  Maybe Hell will do us a favor and keep him down there for a few hundred years.  He tends to disappear for a few decades after he gets discorporated.”

Michael was sitting in Gabriel’s office reading the report from the angel who was watching over Aziraphale, looking for any sign that Crowley was getting involved in the whole affair.  The last thing they wanted was those books falling into Hell’s hands.  He tossed the folder with the report in it back on the grey granite top of Gabriel’s desk.

Gabriel was tapping it with his pen as he thought.  “No.  Let’s see what he does.  He might actually prove useful.”

Michael leaned back in his chair, a disdainful scowl crossing his face.  “How?  He’s just playing his little game again where he follows Aziraphale everywhere.   I swear the little twit gets bored if he doesn’t have an angel to annoy.”

“I mean no offense, Michael,” replied Gabriel carefully.  “But I think this whole plan was not thought out properly.  Sure Aziraphale is well-versed in ancient books, but occult items can be so dangerous.  What if he ends up cursed?  Discorporated?”

“It happens,” Michael shrugged.  “We’re all just soldiers, you know.  Raphael can heal him if he ends up cursed.  Ariel can get him a new body if his dies.  I’d rather keep this on the low-down and off of Hell’s radar. This is why I’d like to get rid of the demon before he figures things out.”

Gabriel stood up to refile the folder in the grey cabinet drawer reserved for confidential missions.  He deftly slipped it in its proper slot then closed it with a soft click.  “Crawly.  Crowley?  Whatever he goes by these days . . . he’s always been an odd one.  Doesn’t really toe Hell’s line but doesn’t do enough to get punished.  The last thing he’s going to do is run to his superiors to tell them about the books.  I can pretty much guarantee that.”

He opened another drawer and pulled out a different white folder, this one stuffed as full as it could get.  He placed it in front of Michael.

“Every bit of intelligence we’ve gathered on Crowley.  Former Virtue.  No idea why he Fell because although he asked a lot of questions, he didn’t ever take up arms against Heaven.  Also doesn’t have the stomach to do three-quarters of the shit the rest of the demons pull.  He seems content to do the bare minimum required to keep his ass out of hot water.  Apparently he loves being on Earth because it’s rare he heads back to Hell and never voluntarily.  Chances are pretty good he’ll want the books destroyed as much as we do.”

Michael made a disbelieving noise and rolled his beautifully deep green eyes.

“No, hear me out.  Every sign points to him being a selfish bastard happy with his life on Earth who doesn’t want to go back to Hell full time.  Mark my words, he’ll help get rid of those books if only to keep the spells in them from wreaking havoc on the planet.  This is the Snake of Eden we’re talking about.  Our field agents stationed down on Earth after Eden told me they heard he was offered a princedom in Hell for making humans Fall, but he turned it down.  He’s not the least bit interested in power grabs and politics.  Aziraphale himself said he was totally bewildered by the Almighty exiling the humans for just eating the wrong fruit.  I know, strange behavior for a demon.  Besides, he can handle the books without coming to any harm.  You don’t even know if Aziraphale can do that, do you?”

“Ok then.  We’ll see what happens.  But if he makes one wrong move, I’ll personally take care of him.”

“Hey, I’d be the last person in Heaven to tell you not to smite that snake if he doesn’t prove useful.”

 

~*~*~

 

“Why do we need to negotiate?  Why can’t we just go in there and take it?” complained Crowley as he straightened the expensive black silk tie he wished into being.

“Because it’s my duty to behave as a moral and ethical person.  I simply can’t walk in there to steal it.”

“I can.  I’m under no obligation to be good.”  Crowley called from the bathroom where he was taking an inordinately long time, even for him. 

Aziraphale sighed from his spot at the small, elegant table in the corner.  Crowley’s idea of “roughing it” was several steps up from the perfectly comfortable room at his hotel.  Although he really didn’t need much since he didn’t sleep, but the bed was a nice place to stretch out and read, plus he did appreciate the minibar even if some of its uninspiring selections required a miracle to meet his tastes.  He stared out at the city from the window, looking over the massive amount of skyscrapers of Manhattan’s skyline. 

“You know,” he said, changing the subject.  “You’re the one with the car, why didn’t you pick me up?”

“You take less time to get ready than I do.  And I don’t know how you expect a rich guy with a valuable occult book to take you seriously when you’re wearing a ratty waistcoat and a tartan bow tie.  Let me fix it.”  The demon poked his head out from the bathroom.

“No.”

“Angel, I’m serious.  You have to dress to impress, not look like the human equivalent of a well-worn sofa.  No rich, penthouse-dwelling American book collector is going to give you even the time of day if you look like that.  Do you want those books out there?  Where humans can cause problems with them?”  Crowley pushed further when Aziraphale didn’t answer.  “Imagine the chaos you'll have to help clean up.  You can spend the rest of the day running around in tartan if you want, but you really need to make a good impression for this.”

The angel acquiesced if only for the sake of collecting the book.  Soon Crowley had swapped his usual camelhair jacket, worn trousers and unfashionable bow tie for a tailored light grey suit with a white shirt and sky blue tie.  He gave his friend one last critical look over.

“You’ll do.” 

Aziraphale stared back at him hard.  “Wait a minute, Crowley.  Your eyes are green and your pupils round.  How the . . . ?” 

“Coloured contacts.  They’re a pain in the arse, so don’t expect me to wear them all the time.  But this time it’s important, so I’m doing it.”

Aziraphale wisely kept his mouth shut.  He knew full well those sunglasses were Crowley’s armor and he’d never give that protection up.  Instead he grabbed his map, stuffing it back in its pristine, white folder then in a dark brown briefcase that actually looked newly purchased and modern.  Crowley quietly changed the colour to a dark grey to match Aziraphale’s shoes. 

“We’re heading to a flat . . . excuse me . . . _apartment_ on Fifth Avenue.”

“If it’s in that one tower named for that one prat, I’m just going to pull the fire alarm and burn the whole place to the ground.”

Aziraphale gave him a long-suffering look perfected by millennia of dealing with Crowley’s comments.

“Hey, even evil has standards.  This portion of evil does, anyway.”

“It’s not.  It’s quite a ways from that place.”  Aziraphale headed towards the door. 

They exited to the plush hallway; Crowley locked the heavy door made of exotic wood with a casual wave before they headed for the lift.  Aziraphale played with his silk tie the entire ride to the lobby. 

“I don’t feel right in this,” he complained.

“Oh stop it.  You look professional.”

Bickering, they walked to the parking garage where the rental car was.  Crowley’s knowledge of cars began and ended with his Bentley, but the luxury model he rented could have easily outclassed it if its owner lacked the ability to wish it full of creature comforts.  Aziraphale, forgetting Americans drove on the right, almost made the mistake of getting in the wrong side.  Crowley wasn’t happy about the reversed driver’s seat, either.

“Former British colony and they can’t even drive on the correct side of the road.”

They flew through Manhattan at speeds that threatened to make Aziraphale’s human body very carsick.  Only Crowley’s demonic ability to make sure nothing ever got in the way of any car he happened to be driving kept disaster at bay and pedestrians alive.  In record time, they arrived at their destination.  Crowley wanted to park right in front of the building, deeming it more efficient, but Aziraphale made him choose a legal spot, much to his annoyance.

“Ugh,” commented Crowley as the doorman let them in to the red marble and carved dark oak palatial lobby.  “If I wanted to feel like I was inside a Prince of Hell’s palace, I’d go to one. The only difference is this place has fewer statues depicting dismemberment.”

“I can’t take you anywhere.  Let’s find the lift.”

A short time later they were shown into the elegantly yet modernly decorated sitting room in one of the building’s penthouses while the help went to alert their host they were here.  Perfectly decorated with a minimum of furniture, the place looked about as lived-in as Crowley’s expensive flat in Mayfair.  He itched to vandalize something here, finding it hard to resist the urge to scrape marks with the heels of his brogues into the unscathed, highly varnished wood of the legs of his chair.  Aziraphale sat ramrod straight and nervous-looking in his, staring down at the briefcase at his feet, like he was afraid his mere presence in the chair was going to cause it permanent damage.  If he noticed that its colour had changed, he didn’t say a word.

They didn’t have to wait long before a well-dressed older gentleman walked into the room.  Tall, looking a bit past his prime, with greying hair, he wore a navy blue suit with a tailored shirt and matching navy tie, looking every inch the businessman.  Aziraphale stood up as he entered; Crowley didn’t bother.  This was Aziraphale’s business.  He was just present to basically play the occult equivalent of bodyguard.

“Mr. Fell, it’s nice to finally meet you.”   The man stuck out his hand and Aziraphale firmly grasped it.

“I’m pleased to finally meet you, too, Mr. Strickland,” replied the angel.  He indicated Crowley.  “This is my associate, Anthony Crowley.”

Mr. Strickland eyed Crowley as if the demon was acting a bit rude.  Crowley carefully got up out of his chair, walking slowly over to shake the man’s hand.  “Pleasure’s all mine.  Please do excuse me.  The old back isn’t what it used to be.”

He flashed a charming smile.  Strickland raised an eyebrow at him; Crowley perpetually looked to be around thirty or so, hardly an age to develop many back troubles associated with getting older.  That his spine, along with the rest of his physical self, was about fifteen hundred years old was beside the point.

“Anyway,” Mr. Strickland continued.  “You’re here about the book I’m going to auction?  Please, let’s go to my library.  We can talk business in there.”

Strickland’s library turned out to be a rather large windowless room lined with oak bookshelves filled with the same kind of old, rare books Aziraphale collected.  An inlaid table of some craftsmanship and expense with matching chairs dominated the middle of it.  A metal box large enough to contain a sizable book occupied the center of it.

Aziraphale strolled appreciatively around looking at random titles on the shelves.  “It’s quite the impressive collection you have here, Mr. Strickland.”

_Flattery, flattery.  It holds nothing on your collection._

_True, but let’s keep that to ourselves, my dear._

“Thank you, Mr. Fell.  You told me in you emails that you mostly collect first editions concerning religion, occult and prophecies.  Is that why you’re interested in this particular specimen?”

“Why, yes.  It’s highly unusual to come across a grimoire of that age.  It’s no wonder you’re seeing the interest you are,” Aziraphale replied, lightly but knowledgably.  “I’m prepared to offer you twice its appraised value right now, before having even examined it.  That’s a guaranteed amount.  When you auction, you’re never sure what you’re going to net.”

“Yes, yes.  You are right.  Please, have a seat,” Strickland gestured to a chair and Aziraphale took him up on his offer.

Crowley stayed standing.  The grimoire, their host, the windowless library they were situated in, were all mixing together to create one large ball of uneasy emotions in him.  He was determined to stay poised, ready to fly out there – figuratively or literally – if he needed to grab Aziraphale in a hurry and flee a dangerous situation.  Carefully, he positioned himself behind Aziraphale’s chair on the side closest to the door exiting onto the hallway.  Also, he noted the library did have a skylight that he had missed noticing at first thanks to the concealing motorized blind covering it that was flush with and the exact same off-white shade as the library’s own ceiling.  Crowley looked up at it, eyeballing its dimensions when Strickland’s attention was on the metal box he was preparing to open for Aziraphale.  Involuntarily, every muscle in his body tensed, including in his wings, which were sitting on the edge of the celestial plane ready to manifest into the earthly one at a half-moment’s notice.

_There’s a skylight, angel, if we need a quick escape.  I have a bad feeling about this one._

The box’s lid swung open and the book extracted, Strickland carefully holding it for Aziraphale’s inspection.  Aziraphale, wisely, kept his inspection visual, bending close to peer at the book’s bindings, page edges and other little indications collectors of old tomes observed when bidding on a possible new acquisition.

“I’ll allow you to do the honors of opening it, Mr. Strickland since I have neglected to bring my cotton gloves.”

He made a show of going over the pages, squinting at them before putting on his old-fashioned, silver-rimmed reading glasses, which he didn’t even require but thought added credence to his bookseller persona, to examine the ink.

 _What are you getting from this grimoire, Crowley?_ Aziraphale sent silently.

_Long story short, a whole lot of power.  Being in the same room as this thing is making me uneasy.  The spells in this book can enable humans to not only control other humans – as in whole armies of them – but summon mid-level demons as well and some other nasty stuff._

“Well, it certainly looks its age.  Any authentication on it?” 

“Your friend over there should be able to tell you that.”

Angel and demon both froze.  Strickland gave them a bright, slow, knowing smile as he pulled a scrying mirror from his suit coat pocket and held it up for them to view. 

“A simple enough spell meant to latch on to the first angel its search came across.  Little did I know none existed in America.  Apparently you’re the only one who’s consistently on Earth, Mr. Fell.”  Strickland repocketed the scrying mirror.  “Lucky for me you’re a book collector and all I had to do was put it out there I had this grimoire to attract you.  I wasn’t expecting you’d bring a demon along.  At least I think you’re a demon.  You don’t really show up in the mirror’s spell but the spell book positively hummed when you entered the room.”

Crowley bristled.  “If you’re going to monologue, then why don’t you just come out and tell us why you needed to lure an angel here?”

_Vanish what’s in your briefcase.  He cannot get a hold of that information._

_Done.  It’s all back in the bookshop._

Strickland carefully set the grimoire down next to its box.  “Do you have an alliance?  Are Heaven and Hell working together to prevent the rise of mankind?”

“I’m not feeling inclined to answer your questions, mortal.”  Crowley laid hands that had grown deadly serious looking claws on the table.  “Especially since I asked first.  Why do you want an angel?”

Aziraphale’s breaths were coming in almost undetectable short bursts as the tension grew in the library.  But Crowley knew even though he was giving off signs of being panicked, he was prepared to take any action necessary if things so much as started to inch south.  Aziraphale was an angel, not a fool and a lot of his timidity was nothing but an act. Yet little did Crowley know that he also had his eyes on that grimoire, ready to snatch it up if they had to make a quick escape.

“I need an angel’s wing feather to unlock spells.  Now answer my question, demon.”

“I don’t know.  Hell doesn’t inform me of much that doesn’t pertain to my work here on Earth.  They could be planning to invade Heaven itself right now and I wouldn’t be the wiser.  Now give me the book.  This is not the way for you to gain power.  It’ll destroy you before it obeys you.”

The only reply was a primal, ancient growl that came from the throat of the infernal beast Strickland had summoned.  It stood in the doorway, a full-fledged hellhound completely under Strickland’s magical control.  Aziraphale clamored out of his chair, moving closer to the spell book sitting out beside the metal box on the table.  Crowley tried his best not to recoil.

“How the fuck did you summon that?”

“Some of the spells are already accessible.  Just the more powerful ones require an unlocking invocation.  Now, about that feather . . . if you’d like to get out of here without _that_ chewing up your Earthly bodies.  Yes, I know it won’t kill you, but it’ll buy me some time to work without interference.”

Subtly, a tendril of power crept up to Crowley in the celestial plane, pointing to his wings.  Understanding what Aziraphale was up to, he extended one within that plane as confirmation.  Carefully the wisp of power plucked a primary, bleaching it white before taking it back to the angel.  From there, it was placed carefully among Aziraphale’s own heavenly primaries as if it was one of them. 

“Ok, ok.  I’ll give you one.”  White wings were extended and the demon feather pulled out of them.  Aziraphale slowly handed it over.  “Just let us go now.  You have what you need.”

Clutching the feather with a twisted grin of triumph on his face, Strickland began his invocation.  The ruse would not last long now, Aziraphale knew.  Sucking in a breath, he made a simple gesture that caused Crowley’s feather to start burning brightly and screamed at him in the process.  “Crowley!  The skylight!  Now!”

Strickland completely lost his concentration as the burning feather blistered his hand and fell to ash on to the table’s surface.  The confused hellhound, released from the man’s control when his attention waned, began to howl.  Seizing the chaotic moment, Aziraphale hastily grabbed the book, feeling the curse upon it start to seep into his palms as his fingers closed around its malicious leather covers.

Fighting down the extreme pain he was now feeling in his hands, he leapt after Crowley, who had vanished everything between them and escape, including a large portion of the ceiling surrounding the skylight, and followed those black wings out.  Crowley had snatched the book from his hands as soon as Aziraphale was close enough to him, but it was too late.  The damage had been done.  The veins in his hands were slowly turning black as the curse painfully crept up them.

The last thing Aziraphale saw before the agony made him pass out was a canine-shaped fiend, black as midnight, cornering Strickland between two of his bookshelves.  Half-conscious and quickly losing the battle to stay awake, the angel simultaneously hoped no books were harmed as the hellhound attacked and that Crowley managed to catch him before he dropped into the city below.


	3. A Deal with the Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Aziraphale, what’s up?” said the voice on the other end of the line.  “I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”_
> 
> _“I’m not exactly Aziraphale but we need to talk.”_
> 
> _“Crowley?  Is that you?”  Gabriel said his name as if it was the last word he wanted on his tongue.  “What is going on?  Why do you have Aziraphale’s phone?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a bit heavy, so you've been warned. But don't worry. The next chapter is much lighter.

“Aziraphale?  Can you hear me?  You’ve got to wake up, angel.  Wake up.  Dammit, I’m going to have to slap you if you don’t and I really do not want to do that.  That would hurt my hand.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open upon hearing those words as he slowly came to on Crowley’s soft, plush hotel room bed with a pang of guilt for worrying more about the fate of some old books than of a human who was about to be attacked by a hellhound, no matter how awful said person was.  His hands felt blissfully numb, but the extremely worried look on Crowley’s face as he sat beside him on the edge of the bed told him things weren’t right. 

It turned to immediate relief as soon as he saw Aziraphale’s confused blue eyes staring up at him.  “Hi angel.  We’re in quite a mess here.  You’ve been out for about ten minutes and was it ever fun getting your body in through the window.  Anyway, you shouldn’t have touched that book.  Should have left it to me.  It’s bad.  It’s really bad.”

“How bad, my dear?”

“You need to discorporate.  I can’t cure this.  I can’t stop it.  And you probably can’t get anyone from Upstairs down here in time to save your body, if they even have the ability.”

“Ok,” replied Aziraphale calmly.  Discorporation was really no big deal.  Heaven, unlike Hell, was not stingy with bodies and he’d be back to hunting down books in no time.  “I figured there was something bad about that book, but you weren’t close enough to grab it.”

“Aziraphale, the book is cursed.  It’s not something ethereal beings can touch.  I estimate you have about fifteen minutes before that curse travels all the way up your arms, into your chest and finds your soul.  It’ll kill you permanently if it gets that far.  You need to go now.”

“Well then.  I’ll see you in a week or two.  I’m counting you to get that book destroyed.”

Crowley grasped his hand.  “I will.  Tell Gabriel he’s a prat for me.  See you in a bit, angel.”

Aziraphale gave an indulging smile, concentrated a moment to wish his ethereal spirit out of his body.  Nothing happened.  A look of panic, echoed by Crowley, passed across his face.  Aziraphale tried two more times, meeting resistance at both attempts.

“The curse won’t let me leave,” he said, staying as calm as he could.  He would need Crowley to be as composed and collected as possible for what he going to ask him next.  “My dear, it’s up to you.  You’re going to have to discorporate me.”

“No . . . I can’t.”

“I have to go anyway or the curse will kill me, you said.  You’re just doing me a favor.  That’s all you going to do.  Nothing more.  Think of it as saving my life because that’s exactly what you’re doing.  Don’t let it mess with your head, my dear.”

But it already had and Aziraphale knew it.  The demon wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t speak to him.  Crowley swallowed hard, his hands shaking.  Reluctantly he conjured up a dagger, laying it beside him out of Aziraphale’s line of sight.  It was a cruel way to expect him to finish off Aziraphale’s body, but strangulation wasn’t going to kill a being that didn’t require oxygen, nor did Crowley trust a gun since he hadn’t bothered to as much as hold one since Hell last forced him to go to war.  He was going to be traumatized enough without possibly screwing it up.

The angel leaned forward to lay a reassuring hand on the demon’s shoulder, a gesture meant as forgiveness for an action that didn’t even need to be forgiven.  “It’s ok.  Keep it in your mind that you’re saving me because that’s exactly what you’re doing.  We’re running out of time, so don’t think about it and just do it.  It’s only a body and if I could stab myself without making a big, old mess of it, I wouldn’t ask this of you.  You know my spirit will be ok.  I’ll see you in a bit.”

A haunted look in his contact-covered eyes, Crowley nodded miserably before squeezing them shut briefly, pulling Aziraphale in for a tight hug and stabbing him in the back where he wouldn’t mess it up by hitting his sternum.  Aziraphale gave him one last weak reassuring squeeze on his shoulder then went still, his entire weight collapsing on Crowley. 

Unburdened by a physical body, Aziraphale rushed back to Heaven to seek out Michael in hopes that the Archangel could convince Ariel, who was in charge of the Department of Bodily Requisitions, to expedite getting him a new physical form.  After what he just had to put Crowley through, he could not, would leave the demon alone for long to deal with emotions he would have to process, if he could at all prevent it.  Immortal they may be, but never had they ever killed the other, even during those early years before the Arrangement when they were at each other’s throats more often than not. 

Back in the hotel room, Crowley held the empty body until it started to cool, then laid it back on the pillows, ignoring the amount of blood covering his hands and arms.  He could not look at that at this moment.  Processing the entire mess, mental and physical, was out as well.  To save himself from absolutely losing his mind over what he just did, he had completely shut down; it wasn’t even relevant to his current state that neither of them had a choice in the matter.

He had killed before – in war, in self-defense, in defense of others – but never because he wanted to, or ever when there was another choice.  It made him sick to his stomach on the very rare occasion he had to end a life and he’d turn to Aziraphale to help ease the guilt.  Oftentimes they would find a quiet place to get extremely pissed out of their minds as Crowley worked through the pain of putting another stain on his already tortured and tarnished soul.  This time a week’s worth of drinking would have to wait and for more reasons than it was his drinking buddy he had been forced to discorporate.  Crowley needed to concentrate on the business at hand because if he didn’t, someone was going to cause a whole hell of a lot of trouble with some powerful spell books.

Irritated by the contacts that made his eyes human, he banished them before they made his temper even worse.   An emotional outburst right now would not help matters any.  Once the contacts were taken care of, he suppressed all thought of what he was about to do and reached into Aziraphale’s jacket pocket for his mobile.  Taking deep breath, he covered his friend’s empty human body with a sheet and walked to the hallway away from the bed where he could no longer see the results of the disaster that the day had become.  He found the right number in Aziraphale’s contacts and called it.

“Aziraphale, what’s up?” said the voice on the other end of the line.  “I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

“I’m not exactly Aziraphale but we need to talk.”

“Crowley?  Is that you?”  Gabriel said his name as if it was the last word he wanted on his tongue.  “What is going on?  Why do you have Aziraphale’s phone?”

“I should be asking you that, sending Aziraphale after that fucking book.  But if you want your answers, you’ll have to get your arse down here to meet with me.”  With that Crowley gave his location and hotel room then hung up, hoping Gabriel was not inclined to show up and smite him.

While he waited, he vanished the blood from Aziraphale’s mobile and everything else he had inadvertently touched, then gotten into the elegant, glass shower, suit and all, in some strange attempt to wash his tortured soul clean of the guilt creeping up on him that threatened to consume him alive.  He stood there with his forehead leaning against the beige granite wall, water hot enough to burn the skin off a human being running over him as he finally tried to process how this all went pear-shaped so quickly. 

A knock sounded on the door while he was still cooking himself in the spray.  He waved it open, preparing to get ready for his confrontation with Gabriel because he was damn sure that’s what this was going to turn into.  Crowley stepped out, dripping wet to find the Archangel standing in the bathroom doorway.  Golden eyes narrowing, he instantly became dry, hair styled just right and sunglasses in place.

“Where’s Aziraphale?”

“Since it’s apparent you didn’t pass him on your way down, I assume he’s already Upstairs trying to get a new body.  You sent him chasing after books he has no business ever coming in contact with because you lot apparently don’t understand what kind of fire you’re playing with here.  He’s lucky I have no desire to watch even an angel die permanently.  Had another demon found him, you’d have one less in the Host.  Fucking figure out what you’re doing before you turn Aziraphale or some other angel into your sacrificial lamb because I sure as hell am not going to be around all the time to save your clueless arses.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check out.  I can’t stay in this room a minute longer after what I’ve been through.  What I’ve done could get me into a lot of trouble with the Head Office.  I’m not sticking around.”

He pushed past Gabriel, storming down the short hallway to the door, grabbing the cursed book that made a mess of everything on the way out.

“Figure out what you’re doing before you go off half-cocked again or I just might have to let my people know what’s going on.”

“Parley, Crowley.” 

The demon stopped dead in his tracks, head thrown back in exasperation.  The Rules of Engagement promulgated between Heaven and Hell before Time began dictated he couldn’t just walk out now.  He had to negotiate.

“I’m not coming back in that room.”

“Why?”

“You don’t get it do you?  You think Aziraphale’s going to come sauntering back in here.  Just go look at the bed.”

There was a pause as Gabriel did a crude examination of Aziraphale’s abandoned corporation.

“Incurable curse . . . stab wound . . . what happened here, Crowley?”

“He touched the book.  The rest is a bunch of long, boring details, ok?”

“I need to clean up here.  Meet me in Aziraphale’s hotel room in half an hour.  We can talk in private.”

“I have to get back to London.”

“If you don’t, you’ll be in violation of the Rules, you know.”

Crowley regretted picking up Aziraphale’s mobile and making that call.

 

~*~*~

 

Silence.  Stone cold, uncomfortable silence.  The only sounds that permeated the quiet were the faint noises of traffic, pedestrians and other city noises from the ground several stories below.  Gabriel drummed his fingers on the table next to the hotel room’s sole window hoping that eventually Crowley would understand that parley required some sort of communication.  Being ever the diplomat, he waited just a bit longer.  No reason existed to upset Crowley because that would just make the whole situation worse.

His second wish was that the demon would just take off those damned sunglasses.  He was the Head of Heaven’s Department of Communications and Intelligence and was very aware what lay behind them.   It was unnerving to try to bargain with someone whose facial expressions were hard to read.  Of course, maybe that was the point.

“It’s hard to negotiate if you’re not going to talk,” he finally said in gentle tones he hoped wouldn’t set Crowley off.  It was going to take all his diplomatic skill to get what he needed out of this conversation.  He thanked Heaven he got the story of Aziraphale’s discorporation second-hand from Raphael, who got it directly from Aziraphale when he checked him over for residual curse magic.  He had received that call while waiting here in the hotel room for Crowley to arrive.

A snort was the only reply.

“You obviously wanted to talk to me or you wouldn’t have called.”  Gabriel pressed on.

“I made a mistake.”

“The snake speaks!”

The sunglasses turned towards the window with a hiss.  Sighing, the Archangel about kicked himself for his amateur slip-up.  That was stupid since Crowley was sharp; as long as he controlled his nerves, he could control what came out of his mouth.  He might keep quiet now out of spite.  Most demons would run off at the mouth at such an insult, inadvertently giving away information which made interrogating or parley with most of them easy.  Crowley had more cunning than that.  He had been around humans too long.

“Ok, I’m sorry.  That was rude.  Listen, I do need to know what’s going on.  Let you in on something, too.  I was not in agreement with Michael sending him on this mission.  But I did make contact and he made it back to Heaven just fine so the curse only hurt his physical form.  Ariel’s rushing a body for him but it’ll take a couple of days to complete,” Gabriel paused for a deep breath.  “Aaaand since technically Aziraphale’s in my department, I’m taking over here.  I’m coming along with you two.”

“Excuse me?”  Crowley rose to his feet, ready to walk out of there.  It was bad enough this place smelled of Aziraphale’s favorite cologne.  He didn’t need _this_ to deal with as well.

“An alliance, Anthos.  That’s all I’m proposing.  It appears you had a stealthy one going with Aziraphale already.”

Crowley’s voice was colder than any Gabriel had heard before.  The complete lack of any passion, even anger, was enough to chill the Archangel’s emotionally sensitive ethereal heart.  “I haven’t been called that since before Time was created.  I’d prefer to forget it.”

“Yet you chose Anthony as your given human name.”

“It’s an incorrect assumption the two are related and one that came about after I adopted the name.  ‘Crowley’ just doesn’t work as a first name on Earth.”  In an act of frustration brought on by an entire day of stressful events, he raked a hand through his auburn hair with enough force to pierce his own scalp with the claws he still retained in Gabriel’s presence.   “Why an alliance with you?  Why do you think I’d agree to that?”

“We got along just fine before you Fell.  I’m sure we could again, especially since we have the same goal – to keep those books from harming the Earth.”

“What makes you think I care?”

“You wouldn’t be in New York if you didn’t.”

Crowley raised up his hands.  “Guilty as charged.  The less time I spend in Hell, the happier I am.  You got me.  I also liked Eden a lot, but I sure as fuck wasn’t there to advance your interests.”

“Getting demon summoning spells off the streets advances _your_ interests.  Now, I need to know what happened in that library, Crowley.  Please.  We need that information so we know what we’re up against,” implored Gabriel.  “It’s important that we’re all well-informed before we move on to the next book.  We got a statement from Aziraphale, but you know how discorporation can affect the memories that come just before it.  Something about a man attempting magic to overthrow Heaven and Hell?”

Crowley didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with an angel.  Heaven was a place he vacated long ago and with the exception of Aziraphale, he wasn’t interested in discussing something as mundane as the weather with its inhabitants, let alone explaining the happenings that led up to him being forced to discorporate his own best friend.  Sighing heavily, mostly to show Gabriel how inconvenienced he was by all this, he performed the spell that would allow him to show his memories to the Archangel instead of speaking about it.

He could have been an absolute bastard and just dropped the cold knowledge directly into Gabriel’s head, but he decided against it.  He wasn’t interested in the Archangel sending him on an impromptu holiday to Hell.  It was too dry down there for his tastes.  He liked a little humidity with his heat; developing skin scalier than his snake form was certainly not on his list of enjoyable experiences.

Gabriel’s eyes never left the table top where Crowley projected his memories from the butler answering the penthouse door up until Aziraphale passed out from the curse. 

“And after that?”

“Those are personal.  We don’t discorporate each other out of professional courtesy, on opposite sides or not.  Even so, it’s hard when the Enemy asks you to kill off his Earthly corporation because the curse won’t let him leave it.”  Crowley turned away from Gabriel to stare upon the bed that was last occupied by Aziraphale, duvet wrinkled up by him relaxing on it to read just last night.  “You spy enough on me to know I’m not the monster some of those arseholes down in Hell are.  I just do my job.  That doesn’t mean I was going to let him die permanently.”

Crowley straightened the bedcovers, unable to look at them all rumpled up the way they were.  Realizing that Gabriel might find that to be a weird thing to do, he immediately sat down on the bed, acting like he wanted some space but not to sit on a wrinkled duvet.  Dammit, Gabriel being here in such close, constant proximity to Crowley was making it that much more difficult to hide exactly how entangled the demon was with Aziraphale.  He was not going to show the Archangel memories that would so very clearly scream “fraternization!” no matter how much information on dark spell books he wanted now. 

He couldn’t come along for the rest of the mission.  He just couldn’t.

“It’s a puzzle why you Fell, Crowley.  You might have been a skeptic, but you never joined the Rebellion.”

“You know very well that asking too many questions was enough to make you Fall back in the day.  I didn’t fit in with the proper crowd so I had to go.  Can we talk about something else?  Or end this parley?”

“Are you going to accept I’m coming along to find these books?”

“It doesn’t sound like I have a choice.”

Gabriel decided to just drop it.  If he pushed too much, Crowley would just head back to London in anger; it was imperative he was along if the two other books proved to be deadly to angels.  Having to work with the demon left a bad taste in his mouth, but he could see no way around it.  Crowley was willing and like he said, he wasn’t some kind of monster like most of the demons in Hell.

“Where is the book?  Have you destroyed it?”

Crowley reached out and pulled it into Earth’s plane.  He’d decided the best course of action was to keep it hidden in a pocket of the celestial plane where no humans could access it.  Destroying it had crossed his mind, but he had decided against that, wanting to get rid of it in front of Gabriel to avoid any confrontations.  He casually tossed it on the floor halfway between himself and Gabriel. 

“There you go.  Have at it.  Get rid of the thing.”

Crowley turned to leave.  He just couldn’t stay here anymore.  He’d transport himself back to London to await Aziraphale.  That was about all his frayed nerves could handle right now.  Remembering one last thing, he pulled Aziraphale’s mobile out of his pocket and put it on the bed.

“Have him call me when he gets back.  If this doesn’t take too much time, I’ll help out.”  Gabriel didn’t need to know he wouldn’t ever again allow Aziraphale to hunt down any occult items by himself, nor would he ever be so off-guard that the angel would get hurt.

“Crowley, please,” said Gabriel.  “I don’t have any holy water on me.”

Crowley suspected Gabriel wanted him to destroy the book so he’d be aware it was gone.  That would very much be within Gabriel’s motivations.  Ok.  Two can play this game, but he can play it better.  Behind his sunglasses his eyes went red and the cursed, damned book that had caused him so much trouble went up in ceiling-high flames.  Gabriel retreated back to the wall to avoid any harm from that sinister fire.

“Call it off, Crowley!  It’s not funny anymore!”

The flames died instantly. 

“It never was funny.  I need to go.  There’s a bed in a suite waiting for me that I’m going to require after expending that much power.”

He stumbled out, retaining enough strength to actually drive the rental car to a new hotel where a reservation was magically waiting for him.  Thankfully, he didn’t act too much like some tipsy businessman at the front desk, but that little effort took entirely too much of his remaining energy.  Crowley wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he got himself up to his room and crawled into bed after weakly shrugging out of his jacket and loosening his tie.  His head had barely touched the pillow before he fell into a heavy, thankfully dreamless sleep that lasted for three days.

 

~*~*~

 

New bodies took some getting used to.  It didn’t matter that it resembled exactly his old body, only a bit thinner, he felt like he was inside a life-sized puppet trying to figure out how to maneuver everything.  He was never getting discorporated again if he could help it.  Hopefully he’d be more at home in it in a couple of days as they couldn’t hold off book hunting forever.

Everything was jumbled in his mind and being here was not exactly helping.  All he could remember was panicking, grabbing the book when he should have really asked Crowley to do it, pain and an intense amount of guilt.  He wanted to leave.  Crowley shouldn’t be alone right now, not after all that Aziraphale had put him through. 

“I should have asked Crowley what happened to the hellhound,” Gabriel was saying as he examined the bloody mess by the shelves. 

A tarp covered the damage done when Crowley vanished the skylight.  The rest of the room remained as it had been, metal box on the table, the remains of a pile of ash that used to be a feather, an upended chair, the briefcase sitting beside it.  Aziraphale ignored it.  He had vanished everything inside of it so it mattered little now.

“I don’t even think whoever removed the body called the police,” Gabriel continued.  “But how would you explain that whole situation?”

Aziraphale just shrugged from his post in the doorway.  He had refused to enter the room itself, begging off by saying it was too much for him to handle.  It wasn’t a lie.  This private library was stocked full of awful memories he’d rather not have shoved in the most recent incarnation of his face.  Besides, he never was too keen about blood.

“I should be getting back and trying to contact Crowley.”   Aziraphale had received a text from him telling him his hotel and room number before he collapsed into bed to recharge.  The angel was worried since he had never slept so long after using a large amount of power.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  Gabriel turned smartly on his heel to look at the Principality.  “Speaking of the demon, is there more going on there than I know about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I keep an eye on him.  We communicate occasionally because there’s just no getting around the fact that we do bump into each other.  Nothing more.”   Aziraphale quickly answered with a bit of a nervous smile.

Gabriel nodded, saying nothing else about it.  He had been on Earth enough over the years to realize that nothing was black and white.  He no longer had the luxury of knowing Heaven’s view was the one true correct view like many angels who either never or rarely left its safe confines.  He suspected Aziraphale was even more acutely aware of this than he was, and the demon, too.  The ability to see grey areas would have enabled them to reach out to each other, especially since they were the only two representatives of their kind in a world full of short-lived mortals.  It would be a lonely existence without at least occasional communication with someone of your own kind, otherwise.

By all rights, Crowley should not have been involved in this situation.  But he was, he didn’t let Aziraphale die like every other demon in Hell would have and he was visibly upset about having to discorporate him.  They were at least on friendly terms, if not outright friends.  It was a strange situation that he would have to keep an eye on in case it had to be nipped in the bud before it started to veer off in the completely wrong direction, like corrupting Aziraphale or getting in the way of Heaven’s goals.  But this could be a boon for Heaven if Aziraphale could use his amicable association to get useful information on Hell.  Yet he would have to be discreet about it.  He, himself, may have understood how two beings on opposite sides could end up amicable, but the other Archangels and the Seraphim might not be as understanding, even if Crowley possibly had his uses.

Maybe that snake was not so bad after all.  He still wasn’t to be completely trusted, but at least there was breathing room. 

“Let’s go.  I think I’m finished here.” 

They transported back to Aziraphale’s hotel room.  Gabriel was not one to use any sort of human transportation.  Cars concerned him and crowded areas of humans still made him nervous. 

Aziraphale gave Gabriel a polite smile.  “Um, where are you staying?”

“I’m just going to come down when needed.  Lots of paperwork to catch up on, unfortunately.  It is very nice here on Earth and I’d love a vacation, but now is just not the time.”  Gabriel shrugged apologetically.

Aziraphale inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.  It was bad enough he was sticking his nose into all this, but Aziraphale really didn’t want Gabriel staying on Earth with him.  It would make it hard to rendezvous with Crowley, although apparently there was an alliance of sorts between the demon and the Archangel.  Aziraphale still didn’t understand completely how that minor miracle had occurred but maybe if Crowley was in a good enough mood, he could ask.  Yet the chances of Crowley being in anything resembling a halfway decent mood were pretty much scuttled by him having to put up with Gabriel for a while. 

It wasn’t much longer until Aziraphale was alone.  He stretched out on the bed for a bit with his book just to make sure nobody was watching, although it wasn’t much of a ruse since he actually got involved in the book, lost track of time and ended up coming up for air a full hour after he intended to lay his book aside to call Crowley.

Dialing with a bit of apprehension, he hoped the call didn’t go to voicemail this time. 

“’Ziraph’le?”  The sleepy sounding voice might as well have been rain in the parched desert.  Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything he’d rather hear right now.

“Oh Crowley!  Thank Heaven you finally answered.  Are you ok?”

“Think so.  You back or calling from Heaven?”  The demon stifled a yawn as he spoke, his voice sounding more hopeful with each word.

“I’m back, my dear.  I’m in my hotel room.”

“I’m coming over.  We need to discuss old Gabe and his idiotic plan to join us on these hunts.”

“I’ll make sure there’s hot tea.”  Aziraphale’s spirits rose just hearing his friend’s voice.  Maybe they would get through this mission in one piece, Gabriel along for the ride and all.


	4. How to Obtain a Book Without Really Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Watch and learn.  I just might teach you how to annoy an Archangel yet._
> 
> Crowley does things the easy way. Partially because he's sick of this crap and partially to annoy Gabriel.

Aziraphale was looking over more of Gabriel’s papers with the Archangel back in the bookshop in Soho two days later.  Discreetly, he had spent as much time with Crowley as possible, making sure he was going to be all right before he boarded a plane to head back to London.  Crowley said he would follow on the next flight.  Now that Gabriel knew what was going on – or thought he did – there was less need for much subterfuge.  Still, Aziraphale hadn’t spoken to him since their last clandestine meeting in New York.  Aziraphale wondered if he was trying to avoid further contact with Gabriel.

“We’re going to have to get past security to get it,” Aziraphale peered at the map of the museum.  “It’s going to take quite a few miracles to wipe all that mess out.  And I think the safest thing to do is to bring along some holy water.  We shouldn’t move it, I don’t think.  I, for one, do not want to get cursed again.”

“Well, we’re going to have to do what we have to,” replied Gabriel.  “The Metatron is just going to have to understand our judicious use of miracles if it comes to that.  By the way, do you speak German?”

Aziraphale tried to imagine Gabriel with his American accent attempting to speak German and hid a smirk.  “Enough to get by.” 

He didn’t mention that Crowley spoke it much better than he did, as a result of spending a lot of time on an unwanted mission spreading dissent shortly before the First World War.  Information like that would definitely point to him fraternizing with the Enemy. 

“Dammit it all, I wish that demon hadn’t abandoned us,” groused Gabriel.  He picked up a few sheets of paper, looking them over intently enough to make a crinkle appear in his brow.

“Well, you can’t exactly expect him to enjoy cooperating with angels, my dear fellow.  Heaven knows he just does his job and tries to keep his head down.” 

They spent the next hour drawing up and redrawing up plans, attempting to create one that required the least amount of miracles as possible.  Aziraphale finally put down the pencil he had been using to sketch out escape routes for so long the muscles in his fingers had finally started to twinge.  Gabriel had spent so much time sitting thinking with his head in his hands that the sides of his hair were no longer neatly styled, but had hairs sticking out riotously from his fingers constantly combing through them.  There was a definite look of defeat in his stormy blue eyes.

“We can’t do it without asking the Metatron about upping the miracle limit and he’s such a stickler about it.  If we had Crowley around, he could take on a few,” Gabriel sighed in a way that would indicate exhaustion if the Archangel was actually capable of ever being exhausted.  “Hell doesn’t give a shit how much magic demons perform.”

The bit of light streaming in from the bookshop proper suddenly ceased to be in the backroom where the two angels had holed up with Gabriel’s reams of information on the German museum.  Aziraphale looked up, wondering what could suddenly be blocking the light to see Crowley’s tall, lithe shape leaning against the doorframe more casually than the angel knew he felt in Gabriel’s presence.

“Soooo, Heaven wants these books gone but they’re going to be bureaucratic arses about allowing you the means to get rid of them?” asked Crowley.  “That makes sense.”

 Aziraphale wished so much he could greet the demon warmly, but restrained himself, flashing a small smile in his direction that Gabriel would not notice.  He received a barely visible knowing smirk in return before Crowley strode forward to snatch the map of the museum with the book’s location carefully plotted out off the antique table the two sat at planning a heist of angelic proportions.

Gabriel was on his feet angrily, not remotely in the mood to deal with demonic antics, but Crowley just raised his hand in a casual wave as he walked back out of the room and the bookshop without speaking a word to either of them.

_Watch and learn.  I just might teach you how to annoy an Archangel yet._

“What is he doing?” demanded Gabriel.

Aziraphale could only shrug.  “I make no attempts to understand demons.  He’ll be back, though.”  He made no attempts to understand _normal_ demons, but Crowley hardly counted amongst that population.

 “Can you guarantee that?” asked Gabriel as he fretted a bit over paperwork. 

Aziraphale blandly watched him organize his piles thinking that Gabriel spent too much time holed up in his office.  “He’s a demon, but a demon of his word.  He won’t do anything to compromise getting those books out of circulation.”

It was about ten minutes later when the bell on the front door rang, announcing someone’s arrival.  Aziraphale looked up from his sketches, expecting Crowley to walk through the backroom door.  He didn’t disappoint; Crowley swaggered into view carrying a very large, very old, very evil-looking tome. 

“Do you have holy water?”

Gabriel didn’t seem able to pick his jaw up off the floor, so Aziraphale answered him instead.  “Thank you so much, Crowley.  Unless you want to do the honors, I can bless some water and get rid of it.”

“Nah, not worth the headache.  Don’t be stupid and touch it this time?  I’ll just go leave it in the middle of the floor where you can take care of it.”   He dropped it in the space between the front door and the till raising a small cloud of dust.  “Anyway, I’ll be off.  Text me when you need me.”

“Wait!” Gabriel stumbled out of the backroom, careful not to step too near the grimoire.  “How did you do that?”

Crowley smirked a bit, adjusting his sunglasses in an all-too-casual-manner.  “Well, I used your map to transport myself into a private room in the museum near the exhibit hall containing the book, stopped time, walked in and took the book, went back to the private room, restarted time and then transported myself back here.  That’s four miracles the big guy won’t ding you on.  You’re welcome.  _Ciao_.”

Deed done, Crowley exited the building.  He had no interest in or reason to hang around with that prat Gabriel being present.

_Show off._

_Don’t you know it, angel.  Text you later._

Gabriel just started packing up his papers.  “What kind of game is that demon playing?”

Aziraphale just shrugged in an inwardly amused sort of way.  “I don’t know, but we’ve gotten two of the most powerful spell books out of the hands of humanity.  That’s worth something.”

He headed to his tiny kitchenette for some water to bless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention the idea for this whole work came out of one sentence in my one chapter writing "Even Angels Have Bad Hair Days." I've never had a single sentence in another story of mine inspire my imagination like that before. XD
> 
> Sorry this chapter is short, but it's hard to draw out Crowley stealing a book very much since I wanted to tell it from the angels' point of view. Other chapters will be longer. I hope!


	5. Where Angels Dare Not Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m all for bombing the place myself.  Splash some holy water on it afterwards.  Call it a day.”  Crowley shoved his unfinished tiramisu over to Aziraphale, who happily sampled it.  “I mean what if you can’t get close without harm?”  He kept quiet his complete thoughts,  You’re my best friend, angel.  I don’t want to lose you.  We came too close last time._
> 
> Third time's a charm. Or not.

“I’m not sitting anywhere near Gabriel on the flight,” Crowley said petulantly to Aziraphale as they finished up lunch at a restaurant not far from the bookshop.  Aziraphale had just told him the flight they were taking didn’t have first class so he’d have to “suffer” in business with the angel.

“Gabriel’s just coming down directly from Heaven to meet us at the airport once we get to Ireland,” replied Aziraphale, delicately taking the last bite of his entrée.  “Are you going to finish your chicken?”

“I’m still eating it, you vulture.  I should just transport over.  Saves time.”

“You do what you want, but I’d enjoy some company on the plane, to be honest.”

“We can transport over together.  That way it’s my miracle and not yours since your lot is so tightfisted with the magic.  Now stop eyeing my food.  It’s not like you didn’t get plenty to eat,” Crowley replied.  “You act like that new body needs feeding up.  So order some desert already.”

“Oh, thank you, Crowley.  Transporting would save so much time,” Aziraphale replied with one of his bright smiles.  He refrained from saying how nice that was for Crowley to do.  It would have just put him in a bad mood.

After both had finished their entrées and dessert was ordered, Aziraphale pulled out a map Gabriel printed out of the area containing the cave with the spell book, known radiuses of the spells on it marked out.  Crowley slid it over to his side of the table, looking it over very carefully between bites of tiramisu.   

“And how are we supposed to get in there if it doesn’t even allow Seraphim near it?  Whose brilliant idea was that?” Crowley asked, disgusted by Heaven’s continued callous manner towards Aziraphale’s safety even after New York.

“Michael apparently believes I can get close because I’m a lower Choir and in a human body.”

“I’m all for bombing the place myself.  Splash some holy water on it afterwards.  Call it a day.”  Crowley shoved his unfinished tiramisu over to Aziraphale, who happily sampled it.  “I mean what if you can’t get close without harm?”  He kept quiet his complete thoughts,  _You’re my best friend, angel.  I don’t want to lose you.  We came too close last time._

“I’ll be careful.”

“I’m going in with you.  That’s not negotiable.”  The look on his face told Aziraphale it definitely wasn’t. 

Aziraphale nodded.  “Ok.  We do this together.”

 

~*~*~

 

Several days later the three of them stood on a windy, cold hill somewhere in Ireland – the angels knew exactly where but Crowley didn’t much care – looking at the overgrown entrance to a cave where some possibly killer spell book currently resided.  He shoved his hands in his pockets before giving Aziraphale a look that said he’d rather be anywhere on Earth but here.  Gabriel stood off to the side struggling to read some notes while the wind attempted to rip his pages out of his hands.

“Can we get this over with?”  Crowley was at his most insufferable thanks to the stress of this entire situation but there wasn’t much Aziraphale could do to soothe his nerves right now with Gabriel along.

_We have to be careful, my dear,_ sent Aziraphale.  _Remember that.  I’m not taking any chances, either.  Not after the disaster New York was._

_I don’t understand why the book can’t just stay there.  It has warding spells around it.  Just let it rot away._ Crowley’s nerves were definitely getting to him.  Aziraphale could feel them through the light mental path they established to communicate in this manner.  One couldn’t delve into another’s mind with just a surface link, but strong emotions could be broadcast and picked up on. 

_It can be used to magically command Hell’s armies and control the most powerful demons, maybe even Satan himself.  I know you don’t want that to happen anymore than I do.  Breathe, my dear.  We’ll get through this._

Gabriel’s voice broke through their exchanged thoughts.  “Honestly I don’t know if even I will be able to go with you or not, but I’ll try.  Shall we?”

The papers he was holding disappeared as he started to walk forward towards the cave’s jagged entrance.  Aziraphale followed after, looking back to see if Crowley was coming.  The demon did trail after him, but not before making an exaggerated gesture showing exactly how inconvenienced he was by all this.

Hidden inside, the sinister book fairly thrummed audibly to them getting louder the closer they got.  Crowley seemed more affected by it than the angels did.  He winced a bit as the thrumming echoed unpleasantly in his ears, rubbing the side of his head with one slender hand. 

“You ok?” asked a concerned Aziraphale.

“I’ll live . . . for now.”

“For now” didn’t last long.  Mere meters in front of the cave’s entrance Crowley sank to his knees covering both sides of his head with his hands as if trying to shut out the disorienting sound.  Aziraphale was instantly at his side, fraternization concerns be damned.  Gabriel stood impassively and impatiently off to the side.

“You can’t do this, can you?” whispered Aziraphale, wanting badly to put a soothing hand on Crowley’s back.  “We’ll go in.  You get back before it does you harm.”

“No.  I _have_ to go in.  The book’s telling me I’m the only one who’ll be allowed.  You two try and you’ll be thrown out.  Try again and it’ll curse you.  Bless it all, I _knew_ this was going to happen.  I just _knew_ it.  Heaven better stay off my back for a long time after this favor.”

Having said his piece, Crowley stood up again, brushed a bit of grass off his ultra-slim jeans and stalked into the uninviting mouth of the cave, a blue light hovering above his head.  This is not what he wanted to do by any stretch of the imagination, but if it was the only way to keep Aziraphale and Earth safe, it needed to get done.  The cave’s trail veered off to the right, slick with moisture and angling steeply downwards.  Exchanging his snake skin boots for a pair of black hiking boots that better gripped the wet, rocky floor, he disappeared from Aziraphale’s sight.

Gabriel strode forward, attempting to follow him into the cave.  Aziraphale’s arm shot out, preventing him from moving forward while earning the Principality a puzzled look from his boss. 

 “What are you doing, Aziraphale?”

“We’re not allowed,” he said.  “The book told Crowley he’s to go in alone.  We won’t be allowed in if we try.  That’s our warning.  The second time we try we’ll be cursed.”

“Demons lie, Aziraphale.  Never forget that.  I’m going after him.”  Gabriel brushed by, marching determinedly towards the cave entrance. 

Aziraphale watched the spell on the cave knock the Archangel back several meters with a feeling of satisfaction.  The self-righteous grin he felt forming on his lips was extremely hard to hide. 

“Are you ok?” he called, making no effort to approach the spell-protected cave to help Gabriel to his feet.  He was not interested in that incantation throwing him around like a doll during a toddler’s temper tantrum. 

Grumbling, Gabriel picked his way back to where Aziraphale stood and the two angels waited in silence for Crowley to return.

 

~*~*~

 

Crowley knew this was a bad idea.  He knew it was suspicious.  He knew that the other shoe was going to drop because the debacle at the penthouse had been only the first one.  Oh, to be wrong for once in his tremendously long life. 

He squinted at the shadow lurking off to his left.

“Strickland.  Alive, well and past the wardings, I see.  Do tell how you managed those miracles.”

“Magical ability, demon.  Although I do regret the loss of the hellhound.”  Strickland stood there, looking a bit worse for wear with tears in his clothing and healing cuts on his hands and face, but to Crowley he radiated a lot of dangerous magic.  The last thing Crowley wanted to do was get into a magic battle with a powerful rogue human warlock.  Humans tended to have imagination which worked to their advantage. 

“I don’t.  The less hellhounds out there, the happier I am.  Just give me the book.  There’s too much power in there for a human to handle.”  Crowley held out his hand for it even though that was probably a useless request.  “It’ll eventually burn you out.  Not a fun death nor are you going to enjoy the afterlife at all.”

“You’re unusual for a demon.  I’ve never heard of one who hangs around an angel and hates hellhounds,” commented Strickland.  “Anthony Crowley is not your real name is it?  Nor is the angel really Ezra Fell.  Chosen human names, aren’t they?”

“Not interested in discussing that with you.  I’m not stupid.  Names are power.”  Technically any version of his demon name was chosen, luckily for him.  Anthos was his given name and no longer linked to him.   He moved forward a few meters, his hand prepared to conjure up a quick ball of hellfire.  “Are you going to give me the book or not?”

“I tried several times to link power spells to both of you and failed thanks to that.  An angel and a demon would have provided me with such magic.  I don’t quite have the ability to produce hellfire, transport myself, stop time or other such nice abilities.” 

The man strode forward a step or two closer to Crowley, tripping and stumbling on the uneven cave floor.  But it was a ruse.  Strickland hit him with a blast of magic before he had time to react.  Crowley went down hard, the fireball he conjured flying wide.  He cursed silently to himself for not being on better guard against such tactics he should have seen coming.  The warlock was on him before he could recover, magic holding him in place for less than a split second before he easily broke free of it.

“You’re a more powerful demon than you let on.  What were you before you Fell?  Higher than that Principality you hang out with.”  Strickland appeared to have used all he stored and was making the gestures that would allow him to link directly with the local ley lines.

“I don’t remember,” gasped Crowley with a sneer, very clearly feeling the effects of the human’s magic use.  Pushing aside the pain he felt, he climbed to his feet as he sent some of his power to work on healing the mage-inflicted wounds in his shoulder and down his right side.  With any luck, they would be mended within a few short moments.  He flung a stream of pure energy at Strickland the moment he was on his feet, knocking him back a few feet but doing little damage.  The bastard had conjured a shield.

The two fought each other for some time, neither one again getting an advantage over the other.  It took all Strickland had to counter Crowley’s attacks, but he was good.  He had studied and practiced enough to be excellent at magic for a human.  Usually the rare renegade human magician was easily subdued and destroyed. 

Crowley attempted to stop time but Strickland had anticipated this move, putting spells on the cave that prevented him from doing that.  The demon could have broken through them but that would have taken concentration that he couldn’t spare in the middle of a fight.  He was busy dealing with raw, barely controlled power drawn directly from the Earth being thrown at him.

Strickland was drawing tremendous amounts power in from ley lines, which was a stroke of luck for the demon.  All Crowley had to do was keep himself from getting beaten into the ground for long enough to Strickland to burn himself out.  Here in a damp cave located in the middle of a desolate field of nothing but native grasses was the best place to do that.  If he was close to a town, he’d take half the population with him.  Crowley was a demon; he’d survive a magical explosion, even this close to the source.  So would the angels waiting outside.  With any luck, he’d be uninjured enough to manage to do it without discorporating.  Explaining . . . well, lying about . . . this situation wouldn’t be fun.

It wasn’t that they’d be upset about him getting rid of a powerful grimoire with demon summoning spells and the like as long as he didn’t bring up how he was consorting with angels; Head Office was still sore about the whole incident involving Solomon controlling seventy-two demons.  It was more the trouble he was going to be in over losing a body.  The Department of Corporations tended to be rather stingy these days.  Spending decades filling out paperwork and explaining the situation before he could return to Earth was not his idea of a good time.  “I blew up a grimoire with spells in it that could have summoned each and every one of you, so maybe you should just give me a new body as thanks for saving your worthless selves” wouldn’t be a good excuse for blowing your former one to bits in the eyes of a petty bureaucrat.

Crowley lobbed a few more fireballs causing Strickland to drop the book and leaving his left arm burned beyond much use.  The demon was on the volume of spells in a flash, vanishing it to where hopefully Strickland could not locate it.  He grinned triumphantly while dancing out of the way of streams of magical energy as Strickland cursed him for putting it out of his reach.

_Angel!  I vanished the book into the celestial plane.  Strickland’s alive and somehow managed to figure out how to remove the curse on it.  It’s safe for you to handle.  I’ve got trouble to handle here.  Get rid of that thing.  Here’s exactly where it’s at in the plane.  Sending it the quick way.  Hate doing that.   And whatever you do, don’t use names anymore, ok?_

As much as he despised doing it, he dropped the location of the book directly into Aziraphale’s mind.  He’d understand why he had to do it that way.

“You’re going to regret that, demon.” 

And Crowley, dodging a little too slowly thanks to his attention being on his communication to Aziraphale, found himself engulfed in pain like he hadn’t felt since he woke up on burning granite after his Fall.  The rock of the cave, made brittle by absorbing magical attacks, crumbled around him.


	6. Divinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel? _Aziraphale thought at the Archangel._
> 
> Stall.  I have a plan.  We can’t have a human with that much magical power running loose.  He knows how to tap into ley lines now.  How long before he can command armies or summon demons?
> 
> How am I supposed to do that?
> 
> Any way you can.  Just be careful because now he also has access to Crowley’s power, too.

Outside the cave Aziraphale winced as knowledge he didn’t previously have was suddenly available to him, understanding perfectly why Crowley hated when Hell decided to send it in that manner.  Taking the information supplied to him he pulled the molding grimoire into the earthly plane much to Gabriel’s surprise.

“Az—“

“No!  Do not use my name!  Crowley said not to speak names.  Something’s going on in that cave.  He mentioned the human we dealt with in New York.”

“How?  Isn’t he dead?”

“I don’t know, but I do know the book’s free of curses.  Crowley said it was.”  Aziraphale threw the book on the ground.  “Let’s get rid of this before that human can get his hands on it.”

A wave of rogue ley line magic exploded from the cave knocking both of them to the ground.  Another came close behind it, forcing them to stay down and magically shielded.  Aziraphale prayed his shields would hold as he clutched the book of dark magic against him and felt the stray blasts of the magical battle happening in the cave pound against his protection slowly eroding it away with every minute it continued.

“C’mon Crowley, I have faith in you,” he whispered softly.

It seemed an eternity later, but finally the siege was over.  Both of them climbed to their feet warily then when no more attacks came, got to work.  Aziraphale set the book on the ground again and Gabriel reached for the holy water he was carrying in his pea coat.

The vial Gabriel pulled out of his breast pocket shattered as soon as it saw the light of day, spraying his pea coat with droplets.  Aziraphale scooped up the spell book protectively, turning back towards the cave, where that magic came from.

“Give me the book.” 

Both angels turned to see Strickland standing outside the cave, Crowley limping behind him scratched up, bloody and wearing sigil-covered cuffs around both wrists.  He seemed to not be moving of his own accord, but because of some spell placed on him by Strickland.  Judging by how fast they had gotten there, Aziraphale figured Strickland had moved them both to the entrance using magic. 

“Crowley!” exclaimed Aziraphale. 

Sunglasses gone, the demon glanced up at him with golden, pain-filled eyes.  “Hi, angel.  Like my new accessories?”

“No.  Not very much at all.  What happened?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t have ended like this if he hadn’t have brought part of the cave crashing down on me.  I was a bit slow there.”  Crowley gave what might have been an apologetic smile.

“You two are going to stand there bantering at a time like this?  Unbelievable,”  Strickland snarled.  “Just give me the book and I’ll free the demon.  I have a feeling Hell would not be happy with you if you failed to return one of their own unharmed after this alliance is dissolved.”

Aziraphale noticed Gabriel had disappeared, leaving him there alone in fighting this man and if Strickland could take down a former Virtue-turned-demon, what chance did a Principality have? 

_Gabriel?_

_Stall.  I have a plan.  We can’t have a human with that much magical power running loose.  He knows how to tap into ley lines now.  How long before he can command armies or summon demons?_

_How am I supposed to do that?_

_Any way you can.  Just be careful because now he also has access to Crowley’s power, too._

Strickland called up some flames between them, causing the fire to lick hungrily in the air for several meters.  “This is child’s play for me now.  I can pull magic energy from  the demon.  This is a battle you don’t want, Mr. Fell.”

“And I would care about you using a demon’s powers because?” stammered out Aziraphale, silently hoping Crowley would forgive him for this.  Crowley never liked it when he put himself in harm’s way.

“I would have power on the level of no human’s had yet.  It would be nothing to take on Dukes of Hell or Archangels.  I could end the alliance between the two powers so mankind could evolve without divine or infernal interference.”

“Well, that’s quite ambitious of you, but you’re one human against twenty million angels and demons.  Those aren’t very good odds are they?”

That bought them some time.  The narcissistic Strickland couldn’t help but monologue like a typical movie villain while Aziraphale went to work rummaging around magically in the surrounding area looking for a sword.  Any sword – museum piece, private collection, rusting away in an abandoned castle dull as a butter knife.  Any sharp (nor not) cutty thing would do. 

Finally, he located something usable.  Pulling it towards him in the celestial plane, he prepared to bring it out onto the earthly one, most likely to do something incredibly stupid with it.  After all, Gabriel was the one with the plan.  Aziraphale was just there as the distraction.  His best bet was to keep attention on him and off of Crowley and Gabriel both.  One could come to harm without his powers and the other needed stealth in order to strike.

“Well done.  Calling up armies to control and demons to do your bidding.  I applaud you.  Or I would if you didn’t have these cuffs on me.”  Crowley had apparently picked up the need to stall as well, much to Aziraphale’s uneasiness.  He was the most vulnerable here right now.

The angel shook his head ever-so-slightly.  Crowley just raised an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”  There was a slight breathy groan as Strickland manifested chains on Crowley’s manacles and yanked hard enough to make the spell-injured demon fall to his knees. 

Aziraphale started to make the hand gestures associated with smiting.  This time, Crowley was the one to give the barely perceptible shake of his head followed by a wink to let the angel know he was fine.  Strickland was too close to him; Crowley would end up getting hit as well and he had no idea if his spirit would survive the strike while he was rendered powerless.

“Give me the book _now_.”  Strickland waited while Aziraphale stubbornly clutched the tome close to his chest.  “Ok, then I will have to take it by force.  I have the power of a demon to use and he’s not the low-level grunt he pretends he is.  I’ve spied on him enough to know he ranked rather high in the Choirs before he Fell.  Think of what I can do if I tap into his powers as well as those of the ley lines.”

“You’ll blow us all to Kingdom Come, that’s what you’ll do,” retorted Aziraphale.  Tendrils of his magic were gripping the sword in the celestial plane.  It was time to bring it forward.

Using a magical sleight-of-hand, he switched the book with the sword, swapping them in the planes.  The book now floated in the celestial plane while he held the sword, magical flame flickering along it.

Only it wasn’t a sword.  He had called a long hunting knife to himself instead.  Well, it would have to do despite not having a thing on the honest-to-goodness Heaven-issued flaming sword he wielded briefly in the distant past.  Hopefully the warlock before him was too preoccupied with other matters to examine his weapon that closely.  Gabriel had better do what he was going to do and soon.  He hesitated  wondering if he shouldn’t just keep Strickland talking longer.

No.  He shouldn’t.  Something was telling him he needed to take action – a feeling he hadn’t felt since about the 1940s was trying to communicate with him.  Out of the blue and totally unexpected, the divine Grace suddenly rose like a crescendo and swirled around him, urging him to act.  Angels normally felt the Grace, thought to be an extension of the Will of God, as a kind of background noise connecting them to God and the Host.  Rare though it was that it acted in such a manner, except ostensibly with Aziraphale.  He had felt it work through him on numerous occasions and oddly enough always while in the presence of Crowley.  Wrapping his faith in the ineffable Plan around himself even more tightly, he took the nudge to mean now was the time to distract.

Lofting the knife high like it was a sword, he charged towards Strickland in the manner of someone who hasn’t so much as used one offensively in six thousand years.  Behind the warlock, Crowley, despite his precarious position in this whole drama, registered a look that more or less screamed he was suffering contact embarrassment. 

Aziraphale’s brave yet embarrassing attack unfortunately did not last long before Strickland turned his attention to him.  Long knife moving quickly for an out-of-practice angel, he deflected energy shots fired in his direction, but even this knife was somewhat ineffective for fending off powerful magic.  How was a mere out-of-practice bookseller going to fight against this?  Yet despite the man seriously blitzing him, he miraculously managed to get off a few magical attacks of his own. 

The knife, unfortunately, was not so lucky, flying out of his hands and landing a few meters away after sustaining a full hit to the blade.  Aziraphale lunged for it.

The grass was damp still with morning dew and Aziraphale was not exactly wearing the best shoes for the terrain.  He slipped, hitting the ground in his attempt to retrieve his pathetic weapon.  This was getting ridiculous now.  Where was Gabriel?  Being bait was one thing; staring down your second discorporation in less than a month was another.  The paperwork was going to be hellish, excuse his French.

Strickland was bearing down on him, magical energy crackling from his hands.  Aziraphale found himself pinned down by a spell, unable to rise to his feet.  He scrambled to get up only to find it as impossible as trying to stand on ice.  His breath caught as the human floated mere meters away from him, looking down on him with a terrifying smile. 

“I have access to hellfire now, Principality.  Last chance.  Hand over the book.”  His hands lit up with the sinister red fire. 

“Aziraphale!” screamed Crowley, struggling against his bonds.  The angel could hear the clang of chains against each other. 

His breath still coming in panicked gasps, the angel scrambled backwards convinced he was experiencing his last moments on Earth, or anywhere.  Sky blue eyes closed against the seemingly inevitable and he replied.

“No.”

It did not come.  Instead, he heard the wet thump of an arrow hitting flesh followed by a groan from the human hell bent on destroying him.  He opened his eyes in time to watch the knife he conjured stab into Strickland’s back.  The man, an arrow stuck firmly in his shoulder and a fatal wound in his back, teetered before collapsing forward nearly on to Aziraphale who rolled to one side to get out of the way in time.  Exhaling weakly one last time, Strickland went still as the angel watched.  He looked up to see serpentine eyes looking down at him with a smile.  The bloody knife fell from his hand.

This was one death Crowley was sure he could live with.  Nobody threatened Aziraphale’s existence.

“I had totally forgotten I could move that fast,” said the demon, offering the angel a hand up.  He was idly holding a pair of silvery, sigil-covered cuffs meant to keep a demon from using their power as if they were no more dangerous than the handcuffs used by human police.

“How?” stammered Aziraphale as he stumbled shakily to his feet.  “It should have been impossible to get out of those!  You shouldn’t even be able to hold them!”

Crowley shrugged.  A strange wave of residual divinity came off of him as he did so, a confusing happening that Aziraphale had gotten used to over the years.  It showed up every once in a while in times of danger but the angel was never able to understand it.  All he could surmise was that sometimes Crowley, despite being a demon, was somehow a part of the ineffable Plan and accept that.  Crowley himself seemed blind to such occurrences.

“I can’t answer that.  I was just making some foolish attempt to get out of them when they fell off.  Apparently the spell he used to put them on me was pretty shoddy and easily broken.”

“The spell’s in the sigils.  Those are cuffs used by Demon Trackers and meant to hold any demon powerless without affecting the angel using them.  I’d like to know where he dug those up, to be honest.  They should be in Heaven.  Some Tracker must have lost them on a mission.  Very irresponsible.”

A shocked look passed over Crowley’s face, the cuffs landing on the ground with a clink as they slipped from his fingers.  “Where’s your boss?  Someone shot that arrow and it wasn’t me.  Obviously.  And he took his sweet time doing it while you were sitting there in mortal danger.”

“Behind you.  And I’ll take those.”  Gabriel strode up, quiver and bow stung across his back, and scooped up the offending manacles in a nonchalant manner he didn’t feel.  He didn’t say anything but he suspected Strickland learned enough to make the cuffs himself, then set a trap in the cave for Crowley in order to gain the demon’s powers.  “Let’s get that book destroyed so I can head back.  This is going to require a lot of paperwork.  Crowley?  Do you mind doing the honors?”

“Fine.  I’ll take a headache for the team just to get this over with.” 

The book went up in unnatural flames, as did Strickland’s body.  It was done.  The three most powerful spell books had been found then destroyed.  Some minor ones remained, but those could be hunted at Heaven’s leisure.  Aziraphale caught Crowley as he stumbled a bit from the impact of doing such powerful magic while injured.

“I’d like to escort Crowley back to London.  He’s in no shape to go alone,” said Aziraphale.  “It’s the least I can do after he agreed to this alliance.”

“I’ll look the other way, but don’t take too long or some of the others may notice,” replied Gabriel.  Deciding not to add more magic to an area already crackling with it, he skipped using the power-heavy transport spell needed to get back to Heaven.  Instead, he manifested his wings before flying off to the celestial plane.

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley.  “I don’t think he’ll mind me transporting us back to London.  You’re in no condition to travel like a human.  Let’s get you home.”

Transporting from one place to another on Earth required little magic unlike going from Earth to Heaven.  Their small use of magic wouldn’t leave but a few tiny ripples.

Crowley just nodded wearily at the angel as he leaned heavily against him, wishing right now for his comfortable bed.  He was going to sleep like a baby for a week straight.

There was a rather loud _pop_.  The two lone figures standing in front of the desolate cave disappeared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there’s some inconsistency there with the demon feather from a few chapters ago that wouldn’t have worked to open the spells in the first spell book and the fact that the cuffs dropped off Crowley like he wasn’t a demon. But God plays an ineffable game of poker of Her own devising, so if She needs Crowley out of those cuffs to save Aziraphale’s skin for whatever divine reasons, it’s going to happen. Besides, even She doesn’t like people trying to kill off Her angels.


	7. Communique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Metatron looked down at those folders, a tight-lipped frown on his face. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. We’re just supposed to welcome him back with open arms? After all the headaches he’s caused over the years? What is the Almighty doing?"_
> 
>  
> 
> Can a demon be forgiven? Can Heaven accept that?

_Sometime after the failed Apocalypse._

Gabriel sat in front of the Metatron’s desk unsure what to say or how to react to the news he was just given.  On the desk before the Seraph sat two folders, one pristine white, the other sooty black, both containing information that was highly unusual.  Actually, “highly unusual” was not the phrase for it; “never before seen or even expected” covered the situation better. 

“They released him.  The information I got said they have no more use for him and will leave him alone.”  Gabriel tapped the sooty black folder.  “It seems they realize now that their best chance at winning the war was at about fifty percent.  With the Antichrist’s refusal to end the world, they continue to exist.  So, now what?”

The Metatron looked down at those folders, a tight-lipped frown on his face.  “I don’t like it.  I don’t like it at all.  We’re just supposed to welcome him back with open arms?  After all the headaches he’s caused over the years?  What is the Almighty doing?  She wouldn’t have angels Fall just to make the Great Plan work.  It doesn’t make sense to punish someone who isn’t deserving like that.”

“It’s not ours to second-guess Her.”  Gabriel leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers idly.  “I don’t think we have a choice in this matter.  We can’t just tell God we’re not going to listen to Her.  That’s how angels Fall.”

“Demons don’t just become undemonic!”  The Metatron pounded his desk as emphasis.

“And apparently he’s not a demon.  A while ago on the spell book mission when he agreed to help us, that rogue human magician slapped him in homemade Demon Tracker’s cuffs.  He got out of them, which wouldn’t have been possible for a true demon.  Anyway, he’s aligned himself with Earth.  We can call him up, tell him what’s going on, see what he thinks, and then let him return to Earth.  I doubt he’s going to bother us as long as we don’t bother him.”

The Metatron mildly glared at him, arms folded across his chest.  “Are you sure about this?”

“About him leaving us in peace, yes.  About everything else, no.  It makes me damned uncomfortable, but it’s God’s will, so here I am almost literally arguing devil’s advocate that we do this.  The divinity I’ve felt coming off of him once could have knocked a Seraph over.  He’s now saved Aziraphale’s life twice that I know of.  Going over the Earth records shows he’s kept Aziraphale from getting discorporated twice as well – during the Reign of Terror and World War Two.  I don’t know of any other demon who would risk punishment to save an angel.”

“So he deserves this reward.”

“That’s not for us to decide.  Trust me, I’ve spent enough time gathering information on him to know he’s not going to come up here and cause trouble.  I do suspect that he’s cunning enough to want to make a deal with Heaven.  In writing.  I’m guessing he’ll ask to be left alone, not expected to work for us.  Maybe some other things, too, in exchange for giving up on the tempting.  It won’t be anything we can’t handle.”

“Ok then.  If you’re certain he’s not going to want to hang around here, I don’t see any need to tell anyone else about this.  We’re having a hard time understanding and accepting this, can you imagine how the Host will react?” the Metatron shook their head, not wanting to think about that.  “I imagine we’ll have to tell that Principality he pals around with.  That means bringing Zaphriet in on it since he’d be the best at explaining.  But that’s it.  Everyone else is to be told Crowley’s not to be touched.”

The Seraph sat there thinking for a moment, not sure _why_ they would order such a thing.  “Maybe we should say in recognition of his involvement in the failed Apocalypse.  He defied his own side and no longer spreads evil.  That should suffice.”

“I’ll send him and Aziraphale an invitation tomorrow.”  Gabriel said. 

“I sure hope we know what we’re doing,” sighed the Metatron. 

But Gabriel was right; they really didn’t have any other choice.  For the first time ever, a demon would no longer be considered a demon, but a member of Heaven and an important piece in the ineffable Plan.

 

~*~*~

 

The tiny house sat on a piece of land next to a beautiful, nearly still lake in the middle of the most idyllic forest to exist.  A dock that housed no boat had been built on the shoreline.  Currently an older woman with a short, wavy, white bob stood on the dock watching the sun set on the peaceful lake.  Beautiful pink and orange hues tinged the waters with their bright colors. 

Picking her way carefully through the gently waving grasses, a younger woman with flowing, long, brown hair and white wings approached the dock with two steaming mugs. 

“Ma’am?  I brought some tea.”

The older woman took one, “Thank you, Faith.  Do you think I did the right thing?”

“I don’t know, Ma’am.  But I think everyone deserves the truth.”

“I Created him to Fall, you know.  I looked into the many versions of the future and there was only one way to make the Apocalypse fail.  He had to introduce free will and later on lose the Antichrist so the boy would grow up normal.”  The Woman sipped Her tea.  “All I could do was put him out into the world, hope he did Fall and then make all the right choices.  If I tried to force the whole process, I’d be going against the free will I Created.  I turned him into a sacrificial lamb.  A pawn in a game.”

Faith looked at her with a nod.  Subtly her eyes shifted to a golden hue with slitted pupils and her long, brown hair turned a fiery shade of red as locks twisted themselves into curls.  Her tunic and wings both darkened to black.  When the angel physically changed like that, she was feeling sympathy towards the subject being discussed.

“It worked out, Ma’am.  The world is safe and he’s free.  He did find the companion You Made for him, too.”

“But I put him through six thousand years of suffering and now he’s going to feel the pain even more knowing how I used him.  I almost just let him continue thinking he was a demon.”

“One life versus billions, Ma’am.  Why did you change your mind?”

“He showed many times his heart was in the right place.  He put himself in danger many times to help his angel companion.  The spell book mission cemented me on sending communications to Heaven when I started to think about it after the boy refused to end the world.  To risk your own life, freedom and sanity to save the one you’re supposed to be enemies with.  That took courage.  Hell would have tortured him for eternity for making such an alliance, but he did anyway to keep his friend safe,”  She watched the water ripple a little in response to Her troubled mind.  “He may never forgive Me for what I’ve done.”

Faith was both naïve and wise for one who had never met another angel and had lived all her life in this pocket dimension with only the Woman for company.  The Almighty had withdrawn, but it had to be done to allow free will to flourish, although She was saddened only two of Her immortal creations ever accomplished such a feat themselves. 

“I’ve watched him in the Mirror, Ma’am.  His angel companion, too.  They are strong.  They have been through a lot but they’ll make it.  They have each other.  Best friends.”

“You are such a comfort to Me, Faith.  Thank you for that.  I can only hope what you say is true.  Those two deserve happiness and I hope they find it now.”

The Woman took one last look at the sunset before turning away from it to walk back to the little house.  Her guilt was still there, but it would heal over time.  It was not fair what had happened to the bravest, most important of Her angels, but fairness and free will rarely went hand-in-hand.  Someday they both would understand the sacrifices they made saved them all. 

She concentrated enough to see the little cottage in the South Downs with its elaborate gardens and orchards.  Murmuring softly in a language known only to Her these days, She blessed the land surrounding it, then the cottage itself.  Any plant one put the effort into growing would flourish there.  Any loved book brought under the roof would never deteriorate with age.  It seemed like a small thing, but for some reason, it seemed the right thing.    


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You never liked Hell,” Aziraphale said as he sat across the table in the back of the bookshop with Crowley, who slouched there with crossed arms and a deep scowl._
> 
>  
> 
> _“I never liked Heaven, either.  I like it here.  Such a wonderful, stupid place this world is and I enjoy it very much.  I’d enjoy it more if neither side was meddling in my affairs."_
> 
>  
> 
> Crowley breaks free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end chapter from "Falling with Grace." If you read that story, then you don't have to read this. I just put it here to tie everything together. There are few minor changes I made to it, but it's basically the exact same thing.

White.  That’s all that was here – white.  White walls, white floor, white furniture, cold white light.  The only spot of colour was Crowley and even he with his slim, black suit and crisp, white shirt didn’t provide much of that.  If his temper could physically manifest itself, the room would have been full of shades of red, from the deepest merlot to the brightest crimson.  It would have been an improvement, he thought. 

Crowley wished Aziraphale was here, even if it meant staring at those rumpled beige pants and that argyle jumper he was favoring lately, but when the angel tried to enter the waiting area with Crowley, he was told he was needed elsewhere and ushered away with a puzzled look on his face.  Company would have been nice.  Anything would be better than a bland room with only a hard, stiff chair in it.  They sure weren’t into creature comforts here.

Finally the door opposite him opened and he was directed into an office space with much more colour than the waiting area.  No chairs were present here, but he didn’t have to stand around for long before the secretary opened the door behind the desk into a private office and waved him in.  He strolled more nonchalantly than he was feeling into a space filled mostly with warm greys and lighter shades of purple. 

Hands shoved into the pockets of his slim pants, he appraised the décor and the prat sitting behind the desk.  “Nice place you have here.  So much better than that bland waiting area you made me cool my heels in for an eternity.  Now let’s get to the point.  Why am I here?”

“I see you’ve decided to dispense with the niceties.  Hello to you, too, Crowley.  It’s been a few ages since you were angel, but I do remember you then,” Gabriel wryly looked up from the pristine white folder he was perusing.  “Quiet type.  Liked creating new plant life.  A bit of a rule-bender and asked entirely too many questions for comfort, but not the type I took for Falling.  And now I know why you did.”

He gestured for Crowley to take a seat.  Crowley remained standing, hands still stuffed in his pockets. 

“Do tell,” the demon hissed.  “I was never sure myself why I suddenly woke up on a piece of burning hot granite nor was I sure why I never suffered like the other bastards did from the loss of the Grace.  You have an answer for that, too?”

“Sit.  Please.  We have a lot to discuss and it’ll be easier if you just relax a bit and work with me.”

“I’m a demon currently standing in an Archangel’s office in Heaven.  Relaxing is the furthest thing from my mind,” Crowley bit out, but he did finally remove his hands from his pockets and sit himself on the edge of the chair, long fingers clenching the arms of it so tightly Gabriel could clearly see that Crowley really was serious about his level of enthusiasm about being here.

Part of it probably was the way the invitation was sent.  Crowley was preparing the flowerbeds beside the walkway up to the South Downs cottage’s front door one minute, the next he found he had to wish himself into cleaner clothes because he was standing in Heaven’s entryway in front of some low-level angelic bureaucrat, a confused Aziraphale beside him holding a book in a manner that suggested he was just about to put it on a shelf.

“Upon instructions from the Metatron, Heaven sent an emissary to Hell to discuss your release.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you just hear me out, please?  We negotiated with Hell a deal where you would be released from your duties as a demon.  Apparently after what happened that August, they’re not sure what to do with you.  Eternal torture did come to mind, but then they considered that they really had only a fifty percent chance of winning and you messing everything up basically resulted in a hundred percent chance of their continued existence,”  Gabriel explained while idly flipping through the papers in the folder in front of him.  “You’ll be released back to us.”

Crowley was like a statue.  If his facial expression changed minutely, it was hard to tell thanks to the ever-present armor of his fashionable sunglasses.  He sat there silently for long enough Gabriel wished he’d just react.  Finally Crowley spoke.

“This sounds like some kind of prisoner exchange.  Do I have a say in this?  What do I get out of this deal besides a reprieve from punishment?  Why would Heaven want me back?”

“Heaven never abandoned you, Crowley.”

The demon’s knuckles turned white, his grip threatening to tear the lavender fabric from the chair’s arms.  “It sure didn’t feel that way to me.”  He stood up abruptly slamming his hands down on Gabriel’s marble-topped desk, making the startled angel blink in surprise.  “For the love of all that’s holy, you lot owe me an explanation.”

“The Grace never left you, Crowley.  You had to Fall because you were the one to get the ball rolling, so to speak.  The apple . . . the stationing on Earth . . . the  misplacement of the Antichrist . . . it was all part of the ineffable Plan.”  Gabriel gestured vaguely.  “You never really fit into either Heaven or Hell.  You were created as Heaven’s agent in Hell, so to speak.  A demon with abilities different from other demons.  You’re fond of humans and never really did anything to truly harm them.  You were willing to work with an angel.  You developed enough free will to work against your own people.”

Crowley ran a hand through his stylishly tousled auburn hair – a colour he was favoring lately – and laughed a laugh devoid of any humor.  “I was an unwitting cosmic chess piece in other words.”

“We all were,” said Gabriel, who quickly added, “But you got the shortest end of the stick,” when Crowley rounded on him with teeth bared.  “But you can come back now.  The Grace never left you, which is why you never suffered like the rest did.  It moved you and convinced Aziraphale to trust you along the way . . . .  You’ll be welcomed back into your Choir.”

The response from the demon was quiet but carried a lot of power.  “I was unfairly cast out of Heaven so I could unknowingly be their double agent.  I ended up cursed with these,” he whipped off his sunglasses, revealing furious, golden snake eyes, “for apparently doing exactly what _She_ wanted me to do.  I endured more suffering than any immortal being should be forced to endure, from some of the unpleasantly horrific missions I was forced to perform to almost getting myself killed trying to stop my boss from coming up here.  All so _She_ could put humankind where _She_ wanted them and sneakily avert the Apocalypse.  I deserve more than admission back into Heaven.  I deserve a deal on my own terms.”

Gabriel stared him directly in those curious eyes, Crowley’s face mere inches from his as the demon leaned threateningly over the desk.  “Name them and I’ll make sure they’re honored, although I doubt I can do a blessed thing about your eyes.  The only communication we’ve had from Her in a few thousand years is when the file telling everything about you showed up on the Metatron’s desk two days ago.  I have no way to ask Her to undo the curse.”

“Try praying.  Maybe She’ll actually answer,” murmured Crowley angrily, pushing himself off of the desk.  “The eyes were the cruelest touch.  Slitted like a snake’s but the coloured like the roses I created right before I Fell.”

He broke eye contact with Gabriel to begin pacing in front of the desk, both hands raking through his now unruly hair.

“A reminder of the Grace,” replied Gabriel.  “Those roses still climb the Gates of Heaven, you know.  I always wondered why She insisted they be left alone before She disappeared.”

“In the early years, those damned eyes got me discorporated by superstitious humans more times that I can count anymore.  Anyway . . . Let’s get on with this.  I’m tired of dwelling in the past.”  Crowley stopped the furious pacing he was doing and he started to make his demands.  “I will not serve Heaven any more than I will serve Hell.  I am now officially retired.  No playing silly buggers and stripping me of my powers.  I’ve literally been through six thousand years of Hell for that fucking ineffable Plan so nobody better get the idea to turn the ex-demon human just for, you know, safety’s sake.  You lot will keep the denizens of Hell off my back.  If some angry Duke decides to come after me, I’d better get some Archangels down there as bodyguards.  If I end up discorporated, I expect I will be receiving a new body from your Department of Requisitions.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask that Heaven watch my back and my spirit never get stuck in limbo after what I’ve been through.  You.  Owe.  Me.”

The Archangel was writing out all Crowley dictated.  “Anything else?”

“Aziraphale will always be stationed on Earth.  He loves it there and really he wouldn’t do well in Heaven anymore.  Give him his happiness.  It’s the least you can do,” said Crowley.  “I . . . never mind . . .”  He wouldn’t admit even to himself that he had grown fond of that fussy angel through the millennia or that he was the one friend he actually had in this world.  He never got close to humans anymore.  Their lights burned brightly, but were snuffed out too quickly.  In some ways immortality was a curse.  At least they could share it with each other this way.

The notes in Gabriel’s hand suddenly disappeared.  Crowley figured he was sending the details on to his superiors.  Now they waited uncomfortably for the moment of truth, which took several minutes.  A long, agonizing several minutes for Crowley, who had little to say to Gabriel even when he was an angel.  It was like being stuck in a room with that one relative nobody likes or really wants to talk to.  He settled for ignoring him while sitting slouched angrily in the chair, his back against one arm with his long legs slung over the other while he fiddled on his mobile.  It was surprisingly easy to hack into Heaven’s Wi-Fi even though it was rude to dig the heels of his snakeskin-patterned shoes into the fabric on the side of said chair, but it wasn’t like he was feeling particularly charitable towards Gabriel or any other member of Heaven’s bureaucracy.

“It’s a deal,” Gabriel materialized a piece of parchment in his hands spelling out Crowley’s demands that was signed by the Metatron.  “Sign here and it’s a binding contract.” 

A quick glance told Crowley he gotten everything he asked for – part of Heaven yet not officially on duty, released from Hell, no revoking his powers, bodies if he ended up discorporated, protection if needed and Aziraphale stationed on Earth.  Crowley gladly signed “Anthony J. Crowley” in his neat, slanted script.  He’d be damned again if he’d use either his original angelic name or the one they saddled him with Down Below.  “Where’s Aziraphale?  The sooner we get out of here, the happier I’ll be.”

Gabriel produced a copy for Crowley and handed it to him.  “He’s having a meeting in the Department of Devine Grace.  Crowley, for what it’s worth, I apologize for everything that’s happened . . .” he broke off awkwardly, not sure what else he could say to the ex-demon.

Crowley’s angry features softened somewhat as he replied before walking out the door.  “Well . . . thanks, for what it’s worth.  I know we’re all just cosmic pawns here.  Not your fault.” 

Maybe Gabriel wasn’t such a prat after all.  Still a prat, but a lower grade one than Crowley first thought. 

Aziraphale sat in his chair his elegant hands folded helplessly in his lap, his face registering disbelief.  “Zaphriet, you can’t be serious.”

The angel in his crisp, beige suit sat at his desk and nodded slowly.  “I’m very serious.  And Aziraphale?  This isn’t common knowledge, so please do not discuss it with anyone else.  Gabriel, the Metatron, me, you and Anthos are the only ones who know.  There are a lot in the Host who would not understand.”

“Anthos?  I don’t recognize that name.”

“Oh.”  Zaphriet blushed.  “Crawly.  Crowley.  Whatever our former demon calls himself these days.  I do apologize.  I know you’re on good terms with him -- unusual as that is for an angel -- but this isn’t a situation that’s ever come up before.  I’m still trying to keep an open mind here, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Aziraphale blinked in wonder as he thumbed through the catholic knowledge in his head.  _The given name Antony, from the Roman gens Antonii, developed an “h” somewhere along the way because some human claimed it was derived from anthos, the Greek word for plant, which apparently originally came from one of Heaven’s gardeners.  Oh, you clever, old serpent.  Your original name hidden all this time in your chosen human one._

“Yes, we’re friends,” he said out loud, savoring that word for a moment and forgetting the momentary irritation that flared up at Zaphriet’s flippant remark about what Crowley called himself nowadays.  “It’s funny how you come to think of people.  We started out at each other’s throats and ended up almost facing the forces of Hell together.  So, what’s the rest of Heaven being told about this situation?”

“That Anthony Crowley is strictly off limits in recognition of his willingness to face off against the Adversary and nothing more.”

Aziraphale nodded, relieved.  “That’s good.”  He worried about Crowley eventually having half of Hell on his heels again for his involvement in misplacing the Antichrist.  He didn’t need half of Heaven after him for averting the Apocalypse as well.

“This is kind of exciting,” the other angel gushed.  “We’ve never welcomed one back into the Host before.  To think, he Fell and retained his Grace.  All part of the Plan, eh?”

 Aziraphale tried to keep up the cheery smile he had plastered to his face for the sake of not hurting the other angel’s feelings, but his entire soul was filled with turmoil.  He was just sat down in Zaphriet’s office in the Department of Devine Grace and told his Enemy-turned-friend was never truly his Enemy in the first place.  He was finding this whole situation nauseating.  Poor Crowley had spent the better part of his lifetime being messed around by Her, the One who was supposed to protect Her creations, not damn them to Hell because She needed a conveniently placed agent.  An agent who didn’t even know he was an agent in the first place.  This was just too much for Aziraphale to take in.  How was he going to handle it when he had a chance to process it?  He had no room for doubt.  It wasn’t an angel’s place to doubt the ineffable, unless the time had come for that to change.  Things felt different now.  He couldn’t put his finger on why.  Maybe one just doesn’t spend millennia on Earth and not pick up some traits from the humans.  They doubt all the time but still manage to keep the faith.

Plus, how was Crowley going to handle it? 

Apparently not well.  The office door slammed open and Crowley stormed in his face darker than the sky on the day the rebellious angels Fell.  Zaphriet stood up to object to the rude intrusion, then sank back down just as quickly, thinking better of it.  Aziraphale just sat there shocked, mouth agape, until Crowley grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet.

“We’re going,” the former demon snapped.  “Keep your mouth shut, Zaphriet.  I never liked you when I was part of the Host.  I doubt that’s changed.”

Then he was out the door, Aziraphale in tow, trying his best to keep up with the rapid pace set by his taller companion.

“It was lovely talking to you again,” Aziraphale called back over his shoulder as Crowley dragged him from the room.

Crowley stopped his angry charge down the hallway once they were out of the Department of Divine Grace.  “Just a moment . . . I need to do something.”

He let go of Aziraphale’s wrist and walked a bit further down the hall.  With a _pop_ he manifested his wings from the ethereal plane, carefully bending them around the best he could to examine the feathers.  They were no longer the deep, iridescent midnight-during-a-new-moon black he had become accustomed to and taken pride in.  They were as celestial white as Aziraphale’s.  Pure.  Blinding as sunlight on newly fallen snow.  Crowley’s temper rose a degree more as he plucked out one, long, stiff primary that immediately started to grow slowly back as soon as the former feather was removed.

“I liked them black!” he shouted to nobody in particular. 

The Grace in him responded with a sort of sad apology, the first he had heard from it in quite some time.  What it thought that was going accomplish, Crowley had no idea.  He snorted, still feeling very much used and not remotely like playing Heaven’s ineffable game of silly buggers.

“That’s not helping,” he snapped, making Aziraphale wonder to whom he was speaking.  The angel paused a moment, not sure what to do.  When Crowley was in one of his moods, it was usually best to just stay out of the way as much as possible and this was definitely a mood.  Actually, it was more like A Mood, so deserving of the capital letters.  Yet, Mood-with-capital-M or not, they couldn’t stand here all day in a hallway of Heaven while Crowley blew a gasket over the colour of his wing feathers. 

Aziraphale sighed.  The angel approached him cautiously to gently remove the plucked feather from Crowley’s furious grasp.  “My dear boy, I think it’s best if we just leave and maybe back on Earth we can concentrate on how to return them to their correct colour.”  

With that, it was now Aziraphale who took Crowley’s wrist and led him out the employee entrance that led to Earth’s particular plane.  Patting Crowley’s hand as they glided – on offensively coloured wings in Crowley’s case – down to Earth, he tried his best to soothe the ex-demon’s temper with little success.  Crowley was very wound up and very much wanted to stay that way.

“You never liked Hell,” Aziraphale said as he sat across the table in the back of the bookshop with Crowley, who slouched there with crossed arms and a deep scowl. 

He had taken Crowley back to London in hopes of occupying his mind with a trip to their old haunts.  Instead, they ended up back at the bookshop where half Aziraphale’s collection was packed up ready to move and the other half still sat on the dusty shelves while Crowley had ranted uncontrollably for almost an hour before Aziraphale was able to soothe him enough to tamp his fiery temper down to smoldering coals.  He had poured them both some strong scotch they could discuss the day’s events over.

“I never liked Heaven, either.  I like it here.  Such a wonderful, stupid place this world is and I enjoy it very much.  I’d enjoy it more if neither side was meddling in my affairs.  I don’t need Hell demanding my obedience for yet another foul mission that’s going to leave me with a month’s worth of nightmares or the Grace yanking my chain whenever it feels it needs to lead me along some pre-determined destiny.”

“I think they’ll leave you alone now.  Down Below agreed to give you up and Up There’s basically accepted you’re not going to work for them, either.  You also got an iron-bound contract out of the Metatron.  Heaven’s not going to breech that.”

“I hope not.  Hell’s got all the best lawyers and none of them are going to represent me anymore.”  Crowley stared into his glass of scotch.  “What am I going to do now, angel?  I never really was a demon because I never truly lost my divinity.  Yet I’m not an angel, either.  I’m something . . . different.”

“Then you invent your own identity from now on, my dear.  You’ve proven beings like us can have free will.  It’s time you exercised it instead of convincing yourself you have to obey Hell or follow the lead of the Grace.”  Aziraphale reached his hand over and covered Crowley’s with it.  “You are your own being now and you have a completely fresh start with the move.  Let’s discover who Crowley is together, shall we?”

Crowley’s glower, which had been cemented on his face since leaving Heaven, seemed to come just a tiny bit unstuck.  He gazed down at Aziraphale’s plump hand covering his own and felt a rush of kinship coming from that small bit of contact.  It was the comforting touch of a friendship that spanned six thousand years.  Perpetual anger at either of the sides who used him as pawn was going to just drag him down and paralyze him, he realized.  A life lived with his best friend of the last six millennia . . . well, that was a different story and it sounded like a very happy, uplifting one at that.  Although it was a bit nauseating that he found that appealing.  Maybe it was better for a not-demon-yet-not-angel to forget about sides and forge his own way with one fussy bookworm of an angel making that journey beside him. 

He thought a moment longer, frowned a bit in concentration and pleasantly discovered that some things weren’t set in stone.  Just a bit of rearranging with his powers and things were just right.  Neither black nor white.

“Sure,” he replied, unfurling beautiful, shining, silver-feathered wings into Earth’s plane.  “It’s such a totally sappy, warm fuzzy kind of answer, but what the hell.  Let’s figure out exactly who I am.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addressing free will and the occasional divine suggestion given to Aziraphale and Crowley covered more in "Falling with Grace," but touched upon here, I don't see a conflict there. The Grace never forced either one of them to do anything. We can receive suggestions but still make decisions by ourselves. For example, we could be sitting in a restaurant looking over the menu. I could tell you the pasta here is most excellent and you should try it, but you decide you'd rather have another dish. I didn't at all force any choice on you even if I did mention a choice you could make. If the Grace had even forced Crowley to make a choice, then his free will would have been destroyed. 
> 
> I hope that makes sense. :)


End file.
